dark_sinestra

Garak

Quark's Bar

 

Garak didn't know exactly what possessed him to go to Quark's. The place was all but deserted, with most of the civilian population of the station evacuated to Bajor. The mood was positively sepulchral. He approached the bar for a glass of kanar, only to find Quark in a particularly annoying and unsympathetic mood. He sometimes wondered how Rom stood his brother at all and found himself oddly grateful in that moment to be an only child, even if it was of a dysfunctional tyrant like Tain had been.

 

He listened to him whine and moan about how he should have gone into the arms trade. He honestly couldn't have cared less. Worry had made itself home in every inch of his body, he had the beginnings of one of his accursed migraines, and he had no idea if anything of his government yet survived. He had no idea if Julian would make it back in one piece. It rankled him to think of the doctor going off to battle when he was forced to stay behind, useless and fretting like an old woman.

 

“Take a sip of this,” Quark said, pushing a brown, foamy drink closer to him.

 

“What is it?” he asked, suspicious. The foam reminded him of salt scum on the sea, and the smell coming from the glass was revolting. The name, “root beer”, didn't exactly inspire confidence, either. Against his better judgment, he gave it a try, finding it foul beyond belief. It was bad enough that he was as tormented as he was, but now Quark wanted to torture him? He briefly regretted that he hadn't simply shot the Ferengi and Natima Lang when he had the chance long ago. Rom could've gotten the bar, and maybe, just maybe, the civilian dissident movement wouldn't have survived her death.

 

No, he realized that in his own way, Quark was trying to be sympathetic. They had something in common, after all, a mistrust of and yet a reluctant respect for the Federation. It was such a slender thread to place all of his hopes upon, and yet it was all he had left. He watched Quark take a sip of the root beer and grimace. At least the bartender was an equal opportunity offender.

 

He was just about to have another kanar, because the first hadn't managed to kill the cloying taste of the root beer, when a red alert alarm sounded. Knowing what it had to be, he took his leave and hurried to his shop to arm himself. If the Klingons were here, it meant that the Defiant must be here with passengers. He checked the charge on his disruptor and tucked it into his belt at the small of his back.

He waited to see what would happen next, and his patience was rewarded. He saw more Cardassians than he had seen in a very long time being herded from the docking ring and led down a side corridor toward the nearest H-ring. He didn't let the sight of Dukat deter him. As he headed off after them, he managed to find Julian in the throng of officers taking up positions and inclined his head to him, putting as much of his gratitude as he could in his gaze. He hoped that he would have time to thank him more properly later. As it was, he was relieved to see him not only in one piece but handling himself like a consummate professional.

 

Dukat greeted his approach with derision and skepticism, but he changed his tune when Garak drew his disruptor. As tempting as it was to give the man a reason for his mistrust, Dukat was simply too skilled and valuable to waste over a grudge. He took up position beside him and two Starfleet security officers, prepared for the onslaught he knew in his bones was coming.

 

Klingon warriors materialized directly into the corridor. The four standing guard outside the door leading to the room housing the Detapa Council immediately began firing. It was no good. The numbers were overwhelming, and the Starfleeters were the first to drop. The Klingons closed to melee range, but they couldn't use their bat'leths to full advantage, running the risk of hitting one another instead of Garak and Dukat if too many advanced at once, nor could they shoot for risk of hitting their own men. Idiots, Garak thought with scorn. No sense of tactics. If these were Cardassians, we'd be in real trouble.

 

Dukat wrenched a bat'leth from his closest opponent and hacked through his armor, dropping him messily. Garak used his disruptor as a blunt weapon, striking his foe across the face and backing him up far enough to get a shot off to his gut. He never had enjoyed hand to hand combat, and he couldn't resist expressing his distaste, any more than Dukat could resist the opening to bait him. Is this it? He thought with grim humor. I'm going to go down with that annoying voice in my ears? I don't think so! He redoubled his efforts and saw a satisfying flash further down the corridor. “They've raised internal shields,” he told Dukat, “which means they probably have the external ones back online, too.”

 

“Let's finish them,” Dukat said, a predatory gleam in his blue-gray eyes.

 

He needed no prompting, the two of them proving together exactly why and how the Cardassian Union became such a power in the quadrant in such a relatively short amount of time. When his disruptor was knocked from his hand, Garak swooped down and seized a family dagger from the belt of one of the fallen, thrusting up through the diaphragm and into the heart of his attacker. His lips peeled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. Soon only he and Dukat stood in a corridor lined with the bloody dead and dying, both of them cut and bruised, but fully intact. Breathing heavily, they eyed one another with grudging respect. They made quick work of those still breathing, giving no quarter to those who expected none, and dropped back into defensive positions without another word, waiting for the next wave that never came.

 

Shielding in the corridor shimmered and dropped just as a contingency of security and medical personnel rounded the curve with Doctor Bashir and Nurse Decla just behind the Bajoran officers. Garak discarded the dagger as though it were trash and fished his disruptor out of a tangle of bodies. He straightened as Dukat said, “Better late than never, I suppose. Sorry to disappoint you if you expected Cardassian casualties.”

 

Garak exchanged a look with the doctor and suppressed a smile. He was glad to see that Julian was long past being intimidated by the pompous windbag. Not to say that Dukat couldn't be dangerous, but there was no reason to fear him in situations like this.

 

“Don't be ridiculous,” Julian snapped. “We're glad you made it, all of you. Please, tell the council members to let us inside to check on their welfare. We've managed to repel the Klingons. They've withdrawn from Bajoran space and called off their attack on Cardassia Prime.”

 

Garak noticed that Dukat sagged slightly with relief. He felt exactly the same way. Dukat tapped his wrist comm and passed on the news to those waiting inside. The door slid open, and the medical personnel filed in. Despite Dukat's accusations that he was there to curry favor, Garak had no desire to linger long in the presence of most of the council members. Many of them were enemies of Tain and wouldn't hesitate to pass that enmity on to him. He slipped away unnoticed and made his way through the deserted H-ring toward his own quarters. He wanted to wash the Klingon blood from himself. He knew he could have his own minor wounds tended later. Cardassia was safe for now. That was all that really mattered.

 

Decla Lisane

Temporary Shelter

 

Lisane fanned out with her co-workers to take readings of the elderly civilians. She walled herself behind her professional demeanor, staying focused on her task rather than thinking of how it felt to be surrounded by that many Cardassians. Some were grateful. Most regarded her with the haughty demeanor she remembered all too well from the occupation. She wondered how many of them had taken part in it in their pasts, how many of the people she tended had Bajoran blood on their hands. She saw a heavy set man with iron gray hair standing off to the side and seemingly following her movements without trying to be obvious about it. Feeling impatient, she straightened to confront him, only to feel her heart leap into her throat. Feylan! “Come on,” she said to him, her voice thankfully not betraying her. “Let me have a look at you.”

 

They stepped off to the side in the crowded room, and he stiffly sank to a seat against the wall. “You may have to help me back up again,” he told her, his gray eyes fond.

 

“What are you doing here?” she hissed under her breath, going over him with her tricorder, her hand shaking.

 

“I see you still have a temper,” he said, rumbling a low chuckle.

 

She glared at him, feeling as though her eyes would bulge from their sockets. “And you still don't take things nearly as seriously as you should. Did you not get my message? Do you realize that Garak was right outside with a disruptor? He could've killed you.”

 

He smiled faintly, almost touching her but seeming to think better of it at the last minute. “I've missed you,” he murmured.

 

“Don't. You're going to make me cry. We can't talk about this here,” she whispered fiercely. “You're fine,” she said more loudly and stood from her squat. She clasped his cool hand, so large it completely engulfed hers, and helped to tug him to his feet. More than anything, she wanted to pull him into her arms and never let him go again. She stepped back. “I'll find you later,” she promised and hurried away to finish her job.

 

She kept a sharp ear out for Dukat's conversation with some of the senior council members. It sounded as though they intended to get back underway for Cardassia as soon as possible. She couldn't blame them. The longer they were away, the more frightened their people would become. They had enough unrest and instability on their hands without this. She didn't care about Cardassia at all, but anything that threatened Feylan's safety worried her tremendously.

 

She lingered and finally found the opportunity she was looking for. “Doctor?” she caught Bashir's attention and took him aside discreetly. “I'd like to take that patient back to the infirmary briefly. He's on medication that he wasn't able to bring with him.” She subtly indicated Feylan.

 

“Of course,” he said, distracted.

 

She took Feylan by the elbow and led him from the room, waving away the security officer who tried to accompany them. “I've got him,” she snapped and shot the younger man such a glare that he didn't question her.

 

When they were out of earshot and alone in the corridor, the elder Cardassian spoke quietly. “I never wanted to leave you, Lisane,” he said. “But I had a duty, and...as I'm sure you've guessed by now, I had a family.”

 

“You don't have to explain yourself to me,” she said tightly, looking straight ahead. “It was war.”

 

He stopped her with a hand to her arm and turned her to face him. Even so much older, she still found him unbearably beautiful. “I want to. I want you to understand that my marriage has always been one of convenience. There is little love lost between me and my wife, although I love my children. I loved you. I still do, and I owe you my life.”

 

She inhaled, intending to negate the debt, but he put a finger to her lips. It stilled her more surely than if he had gagged her. She felt tears sting her eyes and once more fought the impulse to embrace him.

 

“You were never one for listening to sense,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion, “but you're going to listen to me now. You're not going to argue. You're not going to fight me. You're going to let me do something for you, and you're never to speak of it to anyone, or you'll make it all for naught.”

 

Fingers of panic coiled about her ribcage. She had no idea what he was talking about, but she could tell it wasn't good. “Feylan,” she breathed.

 

“No,” he said more sharply then eased his tone. “Listen to me. This Garak of yours isn't after me, Lisane. He's after you. He has hard evidence that you helped me to escape. You know what the sentence is for collaborators. You'll be exiled from Bajor.”

 

“No,” she said, shaking her head, wide eyed. “I saw the file. I'm telling you, he intends to ruin you. You'll lose your family, your title; you'll be in disgrace. Your people don't bat an eye at liars, but they're not kind to those who get themselves caught.”

 

“This is my choice,” he said with the full authority of his long experience and position, his gaze laser focused upon her. “I'm going to tell my people what I've hidden from them for decades, about my captivity. I'm going to tell them how I feigned my own death with an overloaded phaser and how I only recently discovered that the resistance fighter I thought I killed in the blast survived. I'd rather admit my duplicity myself than be exposed by a Bajoran. I failed to relocate and destroy the cell that captured me. I am unworthy of my title of Legate, unworthy to lead Cardassia. I can only hope that my family one day forgives me for the shame I've brought upon our name.”

 

She choked back a sob, bringing a hand to her mouth. This can't be happening, she thought. How can this be happening? “You can't do this,” she said, her voice wavering. “Not for me.”

 

“There's no one else I would do this for,” he said, cupping her cheek gently. “You've suffered enough at the hands of my people. I won't have you stripped of your very home when you just got it back.” He slipped his hand to the back of her head and drew her close, resting his forehead to hers. “No crying, now. You don't want me to cry, do you?”

 

It was the only thing he could have said to stem the tide trying to break free. She clamped down her control and stepped back, quickly swiping at her eyes. She knew that there was no way to talk him out of his decision. The least she could do was to support him honorably. “No,” she said. “I never want to see you cry. I love you too much for that.”

 

“One other thing,” he said, turning and tucking her arm in his as they walked. “I want you to promise me that you'll stay away from Garak. What little I do know of him makes me afraid for you. I don't want to know what you did to incur his enmity, but if it's true, that he's ex-Obsidian Order, you've gotten off lightly.”

 

Lightly? She thought bitterly, I'd rather that he had killed me a hundred times over than this, a thousand. “I promise,” she said woodenly, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. When they reached the infirmary, she took him into the back and fetched a pill bottle from the shelf, counting out a few pills and tucking them into a packet. “They're pain killers,” she said, “in case your knee acts up later.”

 

He smiled warmly and took them. “You remembered,” he said.

 

“I remember everything about you, you idiot,” she retorted. A moment later, she gave in to her desire to hold him tightly. His girth was much greater than she recalled, and he no longer smelled of dust, unwashed clothing, and an unwashed body. How had she ever managed in imagination to substitute Garak for this reality? For the first time in close to two decades, probably for the last time ever, she reflected, she felt truly safe, wrapped in a strong, loving embrace. Her husband had never managed to give her this. Was that how the occupation had marked her deepest, ruined her for anyone other than a Cardassian? Before she could stop herself, she felt tears spill down her cheeks. She forced herself to let him go. “What will they do to you?” she asked.

 

“Disgrace, but not death,” he said. “I know you won't understand this, but in a way, I've always felt this was coming. I'm...relieved. My lies never sat well with me. I should have brought troops back and killed all of you.” He held up a hand quickly. “I'm not saying that I'm sorry I didn't. I could never harm you. But I shouldn't have lied. I shouldn't have spun a tale of heroism that wasn't mine to tell, and I should never have accepted the promotion to Legate. I should have retired long before I did.”

 

“That's rubbish,” she said harshly. “Your people need men like you. Good men! Not people like Garak and Dukat, two snakes in the grass if ever I've seen any.”

 

“Even snakes have their uses,” he said gently. “Those snakes saved our government and our lives. I'm not quick to discount that, despite my personal feelings. Kiss me once, and then let me go. They'll come looking for me soon. I need to get back home.”

 

She kissed him tenderly, pouring every bit of love into it that she possibly could. She knew that she would never see him again and that he was about to face isolation and scorn similar to that which Garak faced on the station, only it would be from his own people, his own wife and grown children. She wanted him to have something recent to help warm his nights, however small and insignificant in the bigger scheme of things it might be.

 

“You're still magnificent,” he said against her lips, sighing contentedly. “I'm glad I had the chance to see you again. I'm glad you survived us, and I'm...”

 

This time she stilled his lips with her finger. “Don't say you're sorry. It's not your apology to make. No matter what happened to me or how horrible things were, I've never been sorry I met you, so don't you dare.”

 

She walked him back to his people, setting her features to the cool dispassion that had served her so well in her life. No one who saw them together seemed to think twice of it. Most of them were too distracted with the events of the day to pay close attention to a Bajoran nurse, and none of them had reason to suspect she had any connection whatsoever to Feylan. Thanks to his sacrifice, they never would.

 

Garak

Private Quarters

 

Garak re-watched the anonymous subspace transmission from Cardassia, a planet-wide feed broadcast about the disgraceful lies of formerly respected, former Legate Feylan Pa'Ren. He saw his elderly wife denounce him and discard her marriage bracelet with a dramatic gesture in front of the main court house of Cardassia City, the gathered adult children turning their backs. He heard Dukat himself comment on how shocked and disappointed he was to see that such a well known servant of the people had stooped so low as to self-aggrandize his service during the occupation, but he praised his courage in coming clean without force or coercion. Garak snorted softly at that part.

 

Civil unrest had followed for the rest of the day and well into the night, demonstrations, vandalism, fires. Fury thrummed his veins. It had never occurred to him that Pa'Ren would sacrifice everything for a woman he could never be with. He had thought for certain that the man would contact Decla and plead his case. Everything in his file showed him to be conservative, a traditionalist. Then the Klingons had come along and put pressure on an already volatile situation, like throwing gasoline onto a fire. He made a recording of the transmission onto a data rod, boxed it, wrapped it in pretty paper with a bow, and marched himself straight down to the infirmary.

 

Julian smiled when he saw him. Decla glared daggers from behind the doctor. “Have you come to let me fix your face?” the doctor asked. “You know, Dukat insisted on getting patched up before they left. Why did you just disappear like that afterward? Some people were looking for you. They wanted to thank you.”

 

“I need no thanks for serving Cardassia,” he said smoothly. “It's a privilege I cherish. I couldn't dream of bothering you this morning, Doctor, not for anything so minor. I'm sure that Lisane can do it, if she's so inclined.”

 

The venom in her eyes turned the green to an apple shade. “Is that for me?” she asked, indicating the box.

 

“As a matter of fact, it is,” he said, if anything even more pleasant than with the doctor.

 

“You shouldn't have,” she said, taking it and seizing his elbow in a vise-like grip.

 

“I trust I'll see you at lunch?” he asked Julian over his shoulder.

 

“I wouldn't miss it,” the doctor said, shaking his head at the two.

 

As soon as they got into an exam room, she had the computer shut and lock the door. “You have a lot of nerve,” she growled, slamming the box down on the counter top.

 

“Be careful with that,” he said sharply. “It's the fruit of your labor. You should be very, very proud of yourself. You've helped to destabilize Cardassia further, quite the feat for a nobody former resistance fighter from the Lonar Province.”

 

“My labor? You're the one...”

 

He launched at her and banged her head against the door, a hand at her throat. “No, you're the one,” he snarled, so furious it was all he could do not to kill her. “You're the one who couldn't leave well enough alone. You saw something you wanted, a Cardassian to satisfy your sick needs, and with no thought to who you hurt or how you did it, you went about trying to ensure that you attained it. When that didn't work, you weren't satisfied. You decided to try to take from me the one thing left to me that matters to me, and if the doctor were even slightly weaker, you would have succeeded. You would have shredded a person who had done nothing to you but reject you because of your hurtful manipulations.

 

“You knew what I was. You knew what I would do. Despite knowing it, you bedded me anyway. You had to know it wouldn't work, that I would never give up my rightful claim of vengeance for a worthless piece of Bajoran tail. For you!” He slammed her head against the door again, harder. “A truly good man gave up his life, everything he has and is on Cardassia, for you, for a pathetic, sick, waste of flesh who can't even feel anything if it isn't rammed down her throat or up her ass hard enough to hurt.”

 

She swallowed thickly against his hand, every word excoriating her to the core. She didn't want to see what was in that box of his, but she knew she'd open it. That is, she would if she survived his rage. She wasn't entirely sure there was any guarantee of that in that moment. Part of her didn't want to.

 

“I've been very good about shedding old habits since coming here,” he dropped his voice dangerously. “You'd never know it now, but I was once extremely easily offended and so vicious even my superiors felt the need to curb my...enthusiasms. Pa'Ren has been demoted and disgraced for his complete and utter stupidity at letting his sentiment override his common sense and his sense of duty to the state. At a time when he was needed most, he decided to turn from a pragmatist to a bleeding heart romantic. Having sampled your questionable charms, I can't for the life of me fathom why, but there it is. What do you think will happen to him if it comes out that in coming clean with one lie, he told a far worse one, just to save garbage like you?”

 

Although she hadn't been able to step past her own self-loathing to fear what he might do to her, she deeply feared the further threat to Feylan. “You can't do that! You can't make everything he did for nothing,” she said, hating the plea in her own voice.

 

“That is precisely my point. Everything he did was for nothing. For you, and not just he but my people have suffered for it. You offend me. Your presence on this station offends me. I feel a relapse coming on to some very bad, very nasty habits. I fear Feylan Pa'Ren won't survive them.”

 

“What do you want?” she asked, trembling violently. “I'll do anything. Anything for him.”

 

“Leave this station. Don't ever come back. Don't ever let me so much as hear your name or see your shadow. I promise you, if you try to avenge yourself or him over this, he will be executed within forty-eight hours. I don't need influence to make that happen. All I need is information, information I already have.”

 

He released her so suddenly that she sank to her knees without the support. She could hardly breathe; she had never seen such deep rooted malice, such naked hatred. She didn't doubt for an instant that he would do everything he said. She realized that Feylan had been right. This was the most dangerous man she had ever known, and she was lucky—they both were—to escape his wrath alive.

 

He watched her, quivering with suppressed violence, and stalked over to take a seat on the edge of the bed. “Do your job. Breathe a word of your real reason for leaving to anyone, and Feylan is not the only one who will pay the price for your stupidity. I'll leave you alive long enough to watch the aftermath. You'd be surprised who I managed to dig up while conducting my little investigation.”

 

Her hands were shaking so badly it took both of them to hold the dermal regenerator steady. He studied her for any signs of resistance or deceit. All he read was naked terror. Good. He had broken her. He had seen some manage to rally themselves from the depths of such emotion to cause trouble later. He didn't believe she'd be one of them. She genuinely loved Pa'Ren, probably more than she genuinely hated herself. As long as Pa'Ren lived, she'd be neutralized, and if he died, well, it was as he said. He had contingency plans.

 

His satisfaction didn't touch his regret at having inadvertently harmed Cardassia. He'd be a long time smarting from that, his miscalculation and mistakes. When she finished with him, he said, “You have two weeks,” and let himself out without a backward glance.

 

Julian

Replimat Café

 

Julian watched Garak eating, finding himself staring overly long at the hands that always held such fascination for him. He had several things that he wished to say, unsure of how to go about saying them without provoking the Cardassian's testiness or sarcasm. It doesn't matter if you do, does it? It's not about how he reacts. It's about what you want to express, he thought. Bolstered by that thought, he cleared his throat. The man's blue eyes lifted immediately, his attention focused. “I think...it's very unfair that you're still here,” he said carefully.

 

Garak wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it aside. “Eager to see me go?” he asked coyly.

 

“You know better,” Julian snorted. “What I mean is that I don't believe that Gul Dukat killed all those Klingons alone, and he wouldn't have even known Klingons were coming for him if it weren't for you. Surely he doesn't have so much influence that he can make the others keep you away?”

 

The tailor smiled slightly. “Your knowledge of Cardassians may be considerable for a Starfleeter,” he said, “but there's much yet to learn.”

 

“Then I suppose I should be grateful you're still here to teach me,” he said, forcing a smile. He knew that Garak wouldn't appreciate pity, but he truly felt bad for him and angry that his people had such little gratitude toward someone who had risked everything to save them.

 

“I'm grateful,” Garak said carefully, “to all of you who risked so much for my government. Cardassia may never formally thank you or acknowledge it, but I'm aware of what you risked. I plan to speak to Captain Sisko about this as well, but I wished to tell you first.”

 

His smile turned from forced to genuine in an instant. “I was glad to be able to do it. I'm lucky to have a commanding officer like the Captain. I'm lucky to be here, period. Speaking of being here, Nurse Decla just turned in her resignation and said she's going back to Bajor. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?” He lifted a brow.

 

Garak looked surprised. “No,” he said. “Did she say why? She seemed fine when I spoke to her earlier today.”

 

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. He should have known better than to expect anything forthcoming. If he were the betting sort, he'd lay a wager that Garak and whatever had been in that pretty little box of his had everything to do with it. Honestly, he was simply so glad to see her go that he had no intention of looking into the matter if Garak wasn't willing to speak of it. “There's one other thing,” he said. “I meant to approach you about this before the two of you broke things off, but one thing after another conspired to distract me from it. She used her medical override code in your quarters. You may want to be certain she didn't access anything sensitive.”

 

The tailor laughed lightly. “My dear Doctor, the only thing she would have found on my computer are business records, inventory sheets, and tax forms. Of course, there's also a wide selection of excellent Cardassian literature, but she wouldn't have needed an override code to access it. I'm not concerned, but it's very kind of you to tell me.”

 

“In other words, you already knew about it, and you've taken care of it. I should have known.” He chuckled and took a bite of his food. “Why do I have the feeling I ought to thank you?”

 

“Thank me? For what?” the tailor asked, blinking.

 

“For removing a thorn from my side,” he replied after swallowing.

 

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,” Garak said, his eyes wide, “but if I did, I'd tell you that you're most welcome. It's always a pleasure to be of service to you.”

 

“What am I to do with you?” he asked, feeling a warm surge of affection. It was refreshing to see that no matter how much things around the station had changed, Garak was much the same as he ever was, slippery, wily, and unwilling to take credit even when it was due.

 

The Cardassian fixed him with a look that made his palms slightly damp and set him to tingling places he didn't need to be tingling for a friend. Garak leaned closer, his voice pitched for Julian's ears alone. “When you figure that out, Doctor,” he said, “I trust you'll tell me?” He leaned back and beamed at him, a knowing gleam in blue eyes.

 

Julian nodded slowly, toying with his fork and unable to look away. “I promise you,” he said, “you'll be the first to know.”

 

The End

Garak

Romulan Warbird

 

As he sat and drank with Tain, Garak gave long, hard thought to the situation. He could see no way out that would preserve his, Tain's, and Odo's safety. While he could understand his father's reasoning, he felt that the action itself seemed ill considered, rushed even. Had the old man always been so pedantic and tiresome? All of this rehashing of old times, talking of the so-called glory days, left him cold. Things were forever altered between them. No matter what Tain said, there really wasn't much chance of going back. The entire Alpha Quadrant was different from his early days in the order. So much of what they took for granted then no longer even existed. Like it or not, the Union was in a state of decline. He couldn't help but to believe that this operation would hasten that.

 

From the moment he met Colonel Lovok, a Romulan with a stiff demeanor and no sense whatsoever of subtlety, his anxiety ratcheted. How could Tain allow such a snake at his back? He listened in dismay as they discussed the necessity of questioning Odo. It was ridiculous, of course. He could ask all day long, and the shape shifter wouldn't have to tell him a thing. What could he do to him, badger and bore him out of his mind? He did as Tain requested, however, not at all surprised to find Odo completely uncooperative and irritable. He'd feel exactly the same in his place. He left Odo to his confinement, hoping to get a moment alone with his father so that he could try to talk some sense into him.

 

Julian

USS Defiant

 

Ever since listening to that intercepted message from Enabran Tain to the Cardassian Central Command, Julian had been knotted with anxiety and a degree of guilt, anxiety for Garak's and Odo's safety, and guilt that his concern for Garak greatly outweighed that which he felt for Odo. Theoretically, the Constable was in far worse danger. That didn't take into account Tain's personal malice.

 

He was glad to be included on this rescue mission, despite the fact that it was only on behalf of Odo as far as Commander Sisko and the others were concerned. He could tell they were ready and willing to believe the absolute worst of Garak, that it was possible he had even known about the operation and deliberately lured Odo along with him so that the Obsidian Order and the Tal Shiar could have a Founder as a prisoner or a bargaining chip. They were wise enough not to openly state such suspicions in his presence.

 

He would gladly face court martial or worse if it meant that he could help to save Garak's life. While he double checked the supplies in the Defiant's woefully inadequate med lab, the ship inexplicably dropped out of cloak. Frowning, he closed the case of hyposprays and hurried toward the bridge in case they needed him. This deep into Dominion space, an uncloaked Federation ship was basically a sitting duck for the Jem'Hadar.

 

Garak

Romulan Warbird

 

He thought that his old skills would return to him, his sense of detachment and professionalism that served him so well during his decades as one of the Obsidian Order's top interrogators and assassins. Sentiment had never gotten in his way of doing what needed to be done. However, watching the gruesome effect that the Obsidian Order's prototype quantum field stabilizer had on Odo sickened him. Parts of the man flaked away and drifted to the floor as though he were desiccating from the inside out. Garak had believed that Odo would be safer with him interrogating him rather than the Romulans, and he knew that Tain would never trust him if he shied away from this newest assignment. He wished that Odo had been more cooperative the first time he had come to talk to him.

 

The changeling sensed his desperation and taunted him despite being in extremis. Was Odo truly going to force him to let him die? It didn't matter anymore what information he obtained as long as it was something. He resorted to something he never thought he'd do, begging, and at last, as Odo collapsed to the floor trembling like a leaf in autumn, he obtained what he wanted from him, true confession. “Home,” the shape shifter whispered, “I want to go home.”

 

Oh, there was so much in that terrible moment of intimacy that followed, words exchanged that he could understand and relate to, a man apart from his people, from his natural state of existence, isolated and longing within the depths of his being to return. Garak deactivated the device and turned away to give him privacy, only to sink into his chair with his head in his hands once Odo was insensate liquid. What had he become? He had been away from his own home for so long that if he returned, he would no longer belong there. He knew it in his heart of hearts. An interrogator never empathized with his subject. A perfect servant of the state followed orders without pity for the glory and betterment of the Union. Once he had been that servant. Now? Now he was pathetic, shaking in his guts from what he had witnessed and been party to. The Starfleeters had succeeded in their subversive tactics, diminished him from the Cardassian he had been to this...this thing for which he had no name, only contempt.

 

He pinched at the bridge of his nose until he could be sure he'd shed no tears and stood. He may not be Tain's perfect son any longer. It didn't mean he didn't intend to escape this situation alive and intact and if at all possible ensure the same outcome for Odo and his father. By the time he faced Tain and Lovok again, he believed that his flawless mask was in place. He'd see this through to the bitter end.

 

Julian

USS Defiant

 

They dropped out of warp near the Omarion Nebula to a scene of unbelievable carnage, too many Jem'Hadar ships to count on sight systematically obliterating the Cardassian Keldon cruisers and Romulan Warbirds. Fiery explosions filled the view screen, and large, jagged pieces of hulls drifted aimlessly, wide open to space. “Commander, I have the Rio Grande on sensors,” Kira said tautly. “She's being pursued by two Jem'Hadar ships, and her shield integrity is starting to collapse.”

 

“Fire at will,” Sisko said. Their phasers quickly dispatched the two ships in pursuit, but three more wheeled about to take their place.

 

“Two life signs on the runabout, Commander,” Dax said.

 

Julian ran from the bridge to the transporter pad where O'Brien stood by. They dropped shields only long enough to beam Odo and Garak onto the ship. As he stepped forward to check a very nasty contusion on Garak's head, the ship rocked violently, taking fire. He guided Garak to the sick bay and helped to secure him there while the firefight continued. His training kept him on task, tending the wound and checking him for more. Throughout the treatment, the tailor stayed uncharacteristically silent. Julian worried he might be in shock, but a check of his vitals came up normal. “Let's go to the bridge,” he said, “if you believe you're up to it.”

 

Garak nodded, and they joined up with Odo, Miles, and the rest. There were several more tense moments while they attempted to evade pursuit. They scored a hit with an aft photon torpedo, and the last of their pursuers dropped behind. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as they set a course back for the Alpha Quadrant. Julian took Garak back to sick bay and insisted that he lie down and rest for the trip. Worryingly, the Cardassian didn't argue, simply doing as he was told, turning onto his side with his back to the doctor, and not moving again until they reached the station.

 

He parted company with the doctor for debriefing and to work on his final report for Starfleet. It seemed to Julian that although he was fully aware and conscious, there was some critical part of him simply not engaged with his surroundings. He seemed hollow. Had Tain really been that important to him, or was it others who were there for the operation? He hoped that later that evening, Garak would talk to him about it.

 

After checking in with the infirmary and working on filing his own report for his part in the rogue rescue mission, he retired to his quarters to get cleaned up and changed into something more comfortable. The relief of having Garak back safe somewhat tempered the stress he had felt during the excursion, but seeing him so disengaged was a whole new worry. He waited what he believed was a reasonable time before trying to contact Garak over the comm. The tailor answered the hail, his face appearing on Julian's screen. “Yes, Doctor?” he asked mildly.

 

“I was wondering if you could use some company,” he offered, trying to assess the bland expression for signs of stress or grief.

 

Garak shrugged. “If you wish. I can't guarantee that I'll be good company. I'm quite tired.”

 

“That's all right,” Julian said. “I'm not expecting a stimulating debate. I just want to spend some time together.”

 

“All right,” he said, cutting the transmission abruptly.

 

Frowning slightly, Julian grabbed the PADD that contained some of his most recent medical journal subscriptions, expecting that he might be doing quite a bit of reading that night if Garak proved to be as reticent as the comm conversation indicated. He hurried down the corridors of the habitat rings until he reached the man's quarters, and when he rang, the door opened. He saw Garak standing near his star port, still dressed in the clothing he had been wearing when they beamed him from the runabout. Setting his PADD on the dining table, he approached him. “Didn't you want to change clothes? You have scorch marks, and you smell like smoke.”

 

The tailor glanced down at his clothing with a look of mild surprise. “I didn't notice,” he said, making no move to do anything about it.

 

“Elim,” Julian said gently, “come on. Let's get you out of these clothes.”

 

Garak eyed him a moment and nodded, allowing the guidance of gentle hands to get him moving. The doctor stripped him down and managed to get him to take a shower. While he was in the bathroom, Julian picked out his warmest, softest pajamas for him, a thick robe, a pair of socks, and his slippers. When he heard the shower shut off, he stepped into the bathroom with the clothing. His concern grew by the minute. Never in all their time together would he have used the word passive to describe the older man. If anything, when he had suffered some hurt, he was more likely to be prickly and irritable than to accept tender ministrations or care. However, he allowed Julian to dress him and even comb his hair. “Thank you, dear,” he said absently, following him from the bathroom.

 

“Of course,” the doctor said. “When is the last time you ate something?”

 

“Mm? Oh, I ate on board the Romulan ship,” he replied. “I'm not hungry.”

 

“I'd feel better if you'd eat a little something,” he prompted.

 

“Replicate me something, then,” he responded. “I don't care what.”

 

Nodding, Julian left the bedroom and replicated a bowl of zabo stew. He brought it back to the bedroom only to find Garak standing right where he had left him with a mildly bemused expression, as though he had misplaced something and couldn't quite recall where to find it. Emotional shock, he thought. It has to be. “Sit on the bed, my love. Let's get you covered up, and I'll replicate you a tray for your food.”

 

Garak nodded, slipping his feet out of the slippers and climbing obediently into the bed when Julian flung back the covers. Tucking him in, Julian set the food aside and did as he had promised, returning and setting him up so that he could eat comfortably. He sat on the side of the bed and watched the rather mechanical way in which Garak fed himself, his look something Julian called the million kilometer stare. He had seen it dozens of times on people in shock from things too horrible for them to process all at once.

 

When Garak finished, he took the tray away and came back with a mug of red leaf tea in one hand, Tarkalean tea in the other, and his PADD tucked under his arm. “I thought you might like something warm to drink,” he said, setting the tea mugs and PADD on the table by the bedside. “I'll just change into the pj's I have here,” he continued, digging in the wardrobe for the sleep wear. After he changed, he took his tea and the PADD and climbed into bed beside Garak. “Drink some of your tea, Love,” he prompted.

 

The Cardassian glanced at the mug. “I'm not thirsty. I think I'm going to get some sleep now. Do turn out the light when you're done reading.” He settled down further in the bed and drew the covers all the way up over the top of his head with his back to the doctor.

 

Julian discovered that he couldn't get much reading done. Eventually, he set aside the PADD and the remains of his tea, told the computer to kill the lights, and settled down beside Garak, wrapping his arm about him and pulling him close. He rested his lips against the evenly scaled back of the man's neck and tucked his knees against the bent backs of the other man's. He drifted to sleep on the soft, even sounds of the tailor's breaths and awoke at some undetermined time to the strangest sound he had ever heard, a nearly inaudible keening that reminded him of the whine of an excited hound. He realized it was coming from Garak. “Elim?” he said, touching the covered curve of his shoulder.

 

He received no response and realized that Garak was still asleep. The sounds continued, rhythmic, timed with his exhales. He managed to turn the sleeping man and reached for his face, finding his cheeks soaked wet with tears. Crying in his sleep, he thought with dismay. Afraid to awaken him, he carefully wiped the tears with a corner of the sheet and pulled him into his embrace. Murmuring soft, nonsensical sounds of comfort, he stroked his fingers through the sleek black hair until the noises subsided and the tears stopped flowing. He pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and drifted back to sleep. When he awoke the next morning, he found himself alone in the bed.

 

Alarmed, he threw the covers back and hurried to the sitting room. “Good morning, Doctor,” Garak said. “Did you sleep well?” He sat fully dressed at his dining table drinking a mug of tea and reading over a PADD.

 

“Y...yes,” he said, dubious at this display of self-possession after his attitude the night before. “Did you?”

 

“Quite well. I must thank you for your kindness last night. I was so exhausted I hardly knew my name. I'll be leaving shortly, as I have a breakfast date with Constable Odo. You'll be a dear and lock up for me, won't you?”

 

“Of course,” he said, nodding. He debated bringing up what had happened in bed last night and decided against it. It probably wouldn't do any good, and it might embarrass the tailor. “At some point soon, I have something important to discuss with you, but it can wait until you've had some time to process what happened.”

 

“That won't be necessary,” Garak said pleasantly. “Whatever it is we can talk about it tonight if you like.” He stood and took his mug to the recycler.

 

Julian closed the distance between them and put a hand to his forearm. “You don't have to do this with me,” he said.

 

“Do what?” Garak asked, tilting his head and looking genuinely puzzled.

 

“Pretend that everything is fine and that you're ready to just go about your business as though nothing happened. I was there. I saw what the Jem'Hadar ships did to the fleet. I saw what almost happened to you and Odo. Last night you were almost catatonic. Of all the people on this station, I'm the last person from whom you need to hide your pain.”

 

One corner of the tailor's mouth twitched upward. “You're very kind,” he said, reaching to pat Julian's shoulder, “but this concern of yours is ill placed. As I told you, I was exhausted last night. I've had a good night's rest, and I'm ready to get back to work. I have much to do to clean up the shop and get it re-opened. If I stay here any longer, I'm going to be late for my breakfast date. The Constable won't appreciate tardiness.” He leaned in and kissed Julian's cheek. “I'll see you tonight, and you can tell me whatever it is that requires my attention.”

 

He felt as though he had no choice but to let it go at that. He hoped that after Garak had a little time to process his feelings, he would change his mind. He knew he'd have to be patient. It wasn't going to be easy.

 

Garak

Security Office

 

After eating breakfast in near silence with Odo seated across from him, Garak asked the Constable if he could once again borrow his communication station to put a call through to Cardassian space to contact Mila. Not only did Odo consent, but he left the office and stood outside the door to ensure that no one would walk in on Garak's conversation.

 

As soon as Mila's face came on screen, he could tell she already knew. Her eyelids were swollen and puffy, yet her quiet strength showed through. “I'm glad to see you,” she said softly.

 

“I tried,” he said, his voice threatening to break. “You have to believe that. I never could get him to do anything he didn't want.”

 

“I know that,” she scoffed gently. “Neither you nor I. Enabran never listened to a soul except himself. How are you?”

 

“As well as you might expect,” he answered.

 

“That's what I was afraid of,” she said, her gaze softening.

 

“Please, don't,” he said more harshly. “I can't take it right now. I'm...” He paused and took a deep breath to bring himself more firmly under control. “I have a lot to do here. He wouldn't appreciate maudlin displays on his behalf anyway.”

 

“Still trying to please him even now,” she said. “I hope in time you get past that, dear. Your life is your own now. You're going to have to figure out what to do with it.”

 

“One thing at a time...Mother,” he said quietly. “Will you be all right?”

 

“I've been provided for well enough. Don't you worry about me,” she said, her blue eyes bright and determined. “You just take good care of yourself, and one of these days perhaps you can make it by to see me. I'd like that.”

 

“I would, too,” he said, briefly pressing his palm to the screen. “Good-bye for now.”

 

“Good-bye, son,” she answered, also touching her screen.

 

He cut the transmission and left the office, thanking Odo for his consideration and heading back to the ruined shop. Cleaning up was exactly the sort of mindless task he needed to put a buffer between crushing grief, fear of what he had learned of himself aboard that ship, and pointless thoughts about the future. It was too soon to make plans. Just because his father was dead didn't mean he'd be allowed to return to Cardassia. There were too many people who hated him, people who had been held at bay by fear of Tain and the Obsidian Order, who would now happily crawl from the woodwork like vermin and try to take a bite out of him. He would have to be more on guard than ever.

 

He worked well past dinner time, at last recalling that he had promised Julian he would be available for an important discussion. Brushing ash from his hands, he left the shop and headed to his quarters to clean up and change into something that didn't reek of burned textiles and plastics. He found a message waiting for him from the doctor, short and non-intrusive. He smiled faintly, the expression fading quickly. There was no way the human could understand what he was going through or how he needed to process it. He called him to let him know he'd meet him in his quarters soon, took care of his hygiene needs, and strolled over.

 

When Julian answered the door, he greeted him with a light cheek kiss and allowed him to serve him a late dinner. All he had to do was to take a good look at the doctor's face to tell that he had read his report. He knew that he had tortured Odo, knew everything he had included, except the left out detail about Odo's desire to go home. That was a secret he'd take to his grave. He waited out the doctor's silence. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” Julian asked at last.

 

“Do you?” he turned the question around, setting his napkin aside on the table.

 

“I don't know,” Julian said tightly. “I...I suppose I never allowed myself to consider the full implications of what it might mean if you had been in the Obsidian Order.”

 

“And now that you have?” he asked, keeping his blue gaze fixed keenly on the doctor's. It was one of his fears come to life. He determined to face it head on.

 

“What if Lovok hadn't been a Founder?” he asked.

 

“Then Odo and I would be as dead as the rest of them,” Garak answered. “You read the reports. You saw the battle. You know that.”

 

“That's not what I mean. What if...well, what if all of you had managed to escape? Would you have really turned Odo over to the Romulans and gone home with Tain?”

 

“Yes,” he said simply. “I did what I could to protect Odo from the situation, but I'm no fan of last stands or heroic martyrdom. I could not have faced down an entire crew of a Romulan Warbird to rescue the Constable and escape one hundred and fifty Jem'Hadar attack ships in a runabout. I may be good, my dear, but I'm not that good.”

 

Julian dropped his gaze to the side, chewing lightly on his lower lip. “No,” he said, “I suppose not. You had the chance to leave at the beginning, and you didn't take it. You didn't abandon Odo.”

 

Still trying to cast me in a heroic light, he thought sadly. How little you understand me, even after all this time. “That's true,” he said. “This isn't what you wanted to talk about, though, is it? You hadn't read the reports when you said that to me.”

 

“No, it's not,” he answered, pushing up from his seat. He lifted a PADD from a small stack of them on his coffee table and brought it over to the tailor. “This is what I wanted to talk about.”

 

Garak took it in hand and began to read. About halfway through the document, he started shaking his head in disbelief. “Do you have any idea what you're doing?” he asked, lowering the PADD and staring at the young man.

 

“Now you're the one who sounds like Commander Sisko,” Julian said, forcing a smile.

 

“Your commander is looking out for you,” he replied, “as is his duty. Julian, don't you understand that this is tantamount to career suicide?”

 

Julian set his jaw. “I won't have people like Decla trampling all over you if something happens to me. My parents could make the decision to have my funeral somewhere you'd be prevented from setting foot. I could be transferred to a medical facility somewhere that you wouldn't even know how to find. I won't have it, Elim. I won't! I want you to do this, and I don't want you treating me like I'm a five year old. I've given this a lot of thought, and I made certain I consulted an excellent attorney. All I need is your agreement.”

 

“You'd put your fate and assets in the hands of a former Obsidian Order interrogator?” he asked.

 

Julian moved to take the PADD from his hands. “I'd put my fate and assets into your hands. If that's what you are, so be it.”

 

Garak closed his eyes. “You're so stubborn, and you're an idiot. Far be it from me to protect an idiot from himself. You have my agreement. Do you need my signature?”

 

“Only after it's filed,” he said, bending to kiss him tenderly. “Thank you, my love. This is a huge load off of my mind.”

 

“When one is out of his mind, how would he notice weight upon it?” Garak retorted. He didn't quite know what to do with this new development. Never would he have expected Julian to take such a drastic step. He knew that were he not fighting his own internal demons and grief tooth and nail, he would be more likely to protest this much more fiercely. He just didn't have the mental energy, and he suspected he would lose the battle anyway.

 

He helped clean up the dinner dishes and begged off of staying over. He just wanted to be in his own quarters, although he didn't mind when Julian proposed joining him there. The two of them called it an early night, and he fell asleep while the doctor was still reading.

 

Julian

Garak's Quarters

 

That terrible keening awoke Julian for a second time. As before, Garak was too deeply asleep to be awakened easily. He slowly responded to being held and caressed, only this time, the episode repeated twice more in the night. Julian recalled how often he had awakened from nightmare after he had returned from the parallel dimension only to find himself held in strong arms and comforted. He wanted more than anything to awaken Garak and deal with this while he was conscious, but what if he refused? Any release was better than no release, he decided. If Garak's conditioning was such that he couldn't bring himself to grieve openly, then perhaps this was a necessary part of his healing process.

 

Over a week passed without a single quiet night. By day, the Cardassian was pleasant and unflappable, distantly affectionate as he might be with a fond acquaintance. By night his grief shredded Julian to the point that he dreaded the tailor's falling asleep. This couldn't be healthy, he decided. He had to figure out a way to break through his resistance to dealing with his loss while conscious. It didn't help that aside from while cleaning out his shop, he couldn't get him to leave his quarters, not since that one dinner where he obtained his permission to give him power of attorney.

 

“Elim,” he said one evening, shortly after the Cardassian arrived home reeking of ash and streaked with grime, “we have to talk. You can't keep on like this. It's bad for you.”

 

“Doctor,” he said patiently, “my shop isn't going to clean itself. With business the way it had been before this happened, my funds were already starting to dwindle. I can't afford to hire help. Even if I could, my choices are few, most of them undesirable.”

 

“That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it. I'm talking about Tain and the others, what you experienced. You can't keep acting as though it doesn't matter to you. If you keep something like that bottled inside you, it will eat you from the inside out.”

 

“You're a doctor, dear, not a psychologist,” he said with a shake of his head. “Even if you were a psychologist, you wouldn't have the first idea about how to treat a Cardassian. I appreciate this concern of yours. I do, but I must reiterate that it is misplaced.”

 

“Really?” he asked, steeling himself for what he intended to say.

 

“Yes, really,” he answered. “Now, let me go take a shower, please. I feel positively disgusting.”

 

“You cry in your sleep,” he said.

 

Garak stopped in his tracks, turning back toward him slowly. “What did you say?” he asked.

 

“You heard me. It happens every night, sometimes four or five times in the night. Whatever you say, you are not all right.”

 

His breath caught in his throat at the look of unadulterated rage the tailor directed at him. “Why didn't you ever awaken me?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

 

“At first I wasn't entirely sure what was happening. Once I was, I decided that you must need the release. I knew that if I awakened you, you'd pull yourself together and deny there was a problem.”

 

Garak approached him with the gait of a predatory beast considering the best angle of attack, his blue eyes stranger's eyes. He didn't think he had seen him that angry since the night he was forced by Sisko to accompany him to Cardassia. “You had no right,” he hissed low.

 

“Elim,” he said, trying to keep his unease from his voice, “how is it any different than all those times you held me when I awoke from nightmares?”

 

“You were awake,” he said, nearly nose to nose and eye to eye with him. “You had the ability to say yes or no to what comfort I could provide.”

 

“Do you think it was easy for me, knowing how weak I appeared to you and your exacting standards to allow you to give me the comfort you did?” he asked. “Part of a relationship is give and take.”

 

“I have never, never once, asked for you to be anything other than who and what you are for me. If you wanted me to back off, you should have told me so,” he said, his voice slowly rising.

 

“That's not the point,” he protested.

 

“Words,” he sneered. “You're always full of them, an excuse for every occasion. How you must have delighted in your secretive observations, seeing me reduced to a reflection of what you wish I were. Who are you to tell me what is or isn't healthy for a Cardassian? What do you even know of it?” His fists balled at his sides.

 

“I know that if you're crying in your sleep, you're not dealing with your feelings,” he retorted, standing his ground. It was becoming increasingly difficult in the face of that frightening expression.

 

“You don't have a clue about what I am or how I feel. You have no idea how little of me you see, all because your tender Starfleet sensibilities wouldn't be able to handle the truth. Every day I tolerate insipid conversation, temper every harsh edge. You know I tortured Odo, know I would have left him to the Romulans, and still you try to cast me in a positive light, that I didn't abandon him. I didn't leave that ship because I knew for a fact that Tain would never let me go, not out of concern for the Constable.”

 

“If that were true, Odo would never have breakfast with you,” he said. “He's one of the best judges of character I've ever met. He knows better.”

 

Garak took his jaw in a vise-like grip. “He's not infallible,” he said coldly.

 

“You're hurting me,” Julian said evenly.

 

“This?” the Cardassian asked, forcing his head back. “This is nothing. You really should learn the difference between discomfort and pain.”

 

“I know you're trying to push me away, Elim. It's not going to work. I've learned this trick of yours,” he said, having to fight his desire to try to twist out of the painful grip. He felt quite certain that fighting back would be a mistake. In his unstable state, there was no telling exactly what Garak might do. A couple of seconds later, he realized that he couldn't have been more wrong. Before he knew quite what was happening, the tailor had ripped his com badge from his uniform and tossed it across the room. The next that he knew, he found himself slammed face first hard against the wall with his wrists twisted behind him at a sharp angle.

 

Warm breath hissed across his ear. “Still want me to share my feelings?” Garak whispered in a mocking tone.

 

“I want you to let me go,” he said, hating that a waver had found its way into his voice. Part of him didn't want to accept what was happening. No matter how angry Garak had been in the past, he hadn't ever hurt him. Well, that wasn't entirely true, but at least that night he could tell that it was as much about frustrated desire and need as rage. This was pure rage.

 

“I would have told you the same thing every night for the past nine nights had I been awake to do so,” he retorted, giving an extra vicious twist to Julian's arms. “You decided not to give me a choice. I see no reason to give you one.”

 

“Because if you don't, I'm going to report you for assault,” he said tightly.

 

He didn't like the ugly sound of the laughter that greeted that announcement. “No,” Garak said. “No, I don't believe that you will.” He felt him shift his wrists to one hand and reach around him to unzip his uniform.

 

“I will,” he reiterated, struggling to pull his hands free. He no longer bothered to disguise his strength. There was no way he intended to allow this to happen, no matter how upset or confused Garak might be. He worked one wrist free only to find himself abruptly twisted around by his other arm and swung into a bulkhead. Stars exploded in his vision, and his knees buckled. While he tried to shake off his daze, he was flipped to his back, the back of his head striking the floor hard enough to disorient him further. “Garak,” he slurred, “don't do this.” He ineffectively plucked at the hands taking his zipper down the rest of the way.

 

“I don't understand you,” the tailor's cold voice knifed through his disorientation. “You say I don't have to hide myself from you, yet when I show you the real me, you say no. I have no patience for this indecisiveness of yours.” He dragged the uniform off of him roughly and tossed it aside, reaching to yank him out of his turtle neck.

 

“This isn't...” he paused, fighting a wave of nausea, “isn't the real you. It's not too late to stop this.” He tried to focus on the gray face drawing closer to his, but his vision was blurred, whether from concussion or tears, he couldn't completely be sure. He felt panic welling in his breast as the implacable hands took him out of his shirt and let him drop back to the floor, naked and vulnerable.

 

“Isn't it? Doctor, are you not aware that Cardassians are responsible for some of the very worst atrocities in the Alpha Quadrant? You should ask your friend Chief O'Brien, or perhaps even Major Kira. Both of them could tell you tales to chill you and keep you awake at night. Few names were more feared on Cardassia Prime than that of Elim Garak at the height of my activity. I was a Cardassian who put fear in the hearts of the worst of the worst. No one was safe from me or Tain. We had the Central Command by the hair, the Detapa Council, too. I had but to stretch out my hand and squeeze.” He took Julian by the throat and lifted him in his grip, his blue eyes glittering malice.

 

Tears slid down his cheeks and dripped onto the back of the hand holding him. He desperately wanted to fight, but his body refused to cooperate, his limbs jelly. He feared that he had been damaged worse than he initially realized and thought he might feel the wetness of blood at the side of his head and slowly trickling downward in his hair. “This isn't you,” he wheezed against the constriction of air.

 

“Infuriatingly stubborn!” Garak tightened his grip until he cut his air off. “Even now? Your very life is in my hands, my true face exposed, and yet you cling to your ridiculous illusions! I could end you without a second thought!” He bared his teeth in a snarl.

 

His chest started to burn almost immediately. He hadn't had time to take in a large breath. Elim, he mouthed, managing to reach one hand up to brush clumsily against the tailor's cheek.

 

Something shattered in the blue eyes. The grip on the doctor's throat instantly eased, and instead of a hand at his throat, he had arms wrapped about him, crushing him against a rough, dirty tunic. The sound that came from Garak was nothing like his strained, almost silent sleep sounds. It was raw and ragged. He curled in on himself, dragging Julian with him.

 

Swallowing repeatedly in his abused throat, trying to get it working properly again, he wrapped arms that felt too heavy across the broad back, cupping his hand at the back of the man's head. Was he really prepared to forgive him all of this? Could he ever trust him again not to hurt him? He didn't know. What he did know was that while the man was consumed with grief wasn't the time to try to decide such things. No more sounds followed the first. Garak's body convulsed in slow, wracking, silent sobs, just a precious few before he regained enough of his control to be still. “I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I'm so sorry.”

 

“I know you are,” he rasped. “You need to get me to the infirmary, Love. I don't feel right.” Garak drew back, his eyes widened in alarm. He wasted no time in getting Julian back in his clothing and lifting him in his arms. “My comm badge,” he said, his head lolling. Another wave of nausea roiled through him. Garak laid him gently on the sofa and found it, putting it in place, then lifted him again. He carried him steadily. Julian rested his head against his shoulder. “When we get there...let me do the talking,” he said. “They'll lock you up if you don't.”

 

“I should be locked up,” he said, his voice thick with self-loathing.

 

“No,” he shook his head, regretting it and swallowing down his gorge. “At least give me the right to decide, and stop making me talk. I'm going to get sick.” He felt the arms tighten around him, but thankfully, Garak listened to him and said no more.

 

Luck was with them insofar as Nurse Decla was off duty for the night. The male Bajoran nurse in charge eyed both of them skeptically as Garak entered. He quickly prepped a biobed and began scanning the doctor as soon as he was settled into place. “You have a nasty concussion,” he told him, “and obvious lividity on your throat. What happened?” Even though he addressed Julian, his eyes glared daggers at Garak.

 

“An accident,” Julian said. “I startled him, and he reacted. Given what he has been through, it's no shock. I should've known better than to approach him from behind and grab his shoulder.”

 

“You ought to press charges,” the man said, reaching for a dermal regenerator for the bruise.

 

“For an accident? I think not,” Julian said sharply. “Do your job, and leave security to the security officers.”

 

“You should stay overnight,” the nurse said. “I don't feel comfortable sending you away until we can deal with that concussion and make certain you don't have any other damage.” He probed expertly at Julian's scalp, finding the cut there and mending it, too. Pushing the doctor's sleeves back, he raised an eyebrow at the darkening bruises there. Julian met his gaze defiantly until he looked away in frustrated disgust.

 

“Do you want me to stay?” Garak asked in a small voice.

 

“You shouldn't,” he said gently, reaching for his hand. “I'm fine, and there's no sense in both of us losing sleep here. Go home, take a shower, and try to get some rest. I'll see you in the morning.”

 

Uncertainty flickered in the blue eyes, but the man nodded, squeezing his hand and letting him go. Julian watched him leave, so full of mixed emotions he had no chance of sorting them out in his current state. He relaxed and allowed the nurse to tend him, knowing better than to give in to the lethargy trying to overwhelm him. He had badly miscalculated the proper way to handle Garak in that situation, and he was aware that luck played a part in the fact that he wasn't now dead. Had his head hit the bulkhead at a different angle, he could have easily broken his neck. A few more seconds with that vise-like hand around his throat, and he wouldn't have been able to hold to consciousness and reach Elim through his frightening rage. Slightly more pressure, and he'd have a collapsed instead of a bruised trachea.

 

Garak had been right in several things he said. Julian didn't know that side of him, what he was capable of, or what he had done in his past. He had no clue how Cardassians typically handled grief. He should have known that telling him about the sleep episodes would trigger a bad reaction. Garak valued his privacy almost above all else. Why had he provoked him? Why was he now so quick to blame himself? He closed his eyes against the harsh infirmary lights and swallowed back tears. All he had wanted was to comfort him. Why was that so terrible?

 

The nurse checked on him periodically through the night, his dark eyes shooting contempt and accusation with each visit. He knew what the man thought, that he had allowed himself to be brutalized by the Cardassian and was refusing to report it out of fear or a sense of misplaced loyalty. He didn't expect him to understand when he, himself, hardly understood it.

 

Garak

Quark's Bar

 

Garak waited for Quark to leave the small back room to make preparations for his end of the bargain. He turned his attention to Rom. “You don't have to do this,” he said. “I hold Quark largely responsible for what happened, but that doesn't extend to you. If we get caught, there could be some serious repercussions for all of us.”

 

“If I don't do this, you will get caught,” Rom asserted. “You're going to need me, Garak. The security protocols for the infirmary sensors are a lot more convoluted than for most of the station.”

 

“I do know my way around a system,” Garak snapped.

 

“I do, too,” the Ferengi said, “and the person I love most in the world isn't lying in a hospital bed right now. How's your head?”

 

He hissed softly, wondering what had ever possessed him to tell the waiter about his migraines. “Hurting,” he conceded reluctantly.

 

Rom nodded. “I could tell. You get all pinchy around the eyes. You really want the added stress of deactivating all those sensors, rerouting the computer so that it's not aware they've been deactivated, and creating a false loop on top of having to see the doctor like that?”

 

“No,” he said. It made his head throb worse even hearing it spoken that way. “I just...Rom, you have a son to think about.”

 

Rom's mouth tightened into a stubborn expression that Garak had come to understand meant he'd make no headway with him. He had made up his mind. “I do,” he agreed. “I'd much rather my son see me in jail for helping a friend get around something that's not right than for one of Quark's schemes.” He straightened himself to his full height. “I'd be proud to go to jail for this,” he declared.

 

These friends of his were going to break his heart, he thought in wonder. What had he ever done to earn such loyalty other than be kind to this man? When he thought about the kind of life Rom had led, it made sense, but it also made him angry that someone so good would risk so much for so little. For him. Like Julian? He thought, only to immediately wince away from that sore spot. Now wasn't the time to think of such things. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” he said breezily. “If we do this right, I'm afraid you'll just have to find something else to be proud of.”

 

Rom smiled and nodded. “I have to get some things together,” he said. “You can go sit at the bar, if you like. We won't be ready for this for at least another hour or so.”

 

“I think I've made enough of a scene at the bar for one night,” Garak said. “I need to get something from my quarters. I'll be back by 2100 hours.”

 

“Don't take any of those pills,” the Ferengi warned him.

 

“Believe me,” Garak said firmly, “I'm not.”

 

Quark

The Promenade

Heading, Infirmary

 

Quark fought himself not to scratch at the grainy dark paste he had smeared on his cheeks and forehead. As it dried, it itched fiercely. He had made a point of complaining bitterly several times during the night about being forced to such actions by the furious Cardassian, but deep in his heart, he was secretly thrilled with the scheme. Admittedly, there was no profit to it directly, unless he counted being allowed to continue breathing no matter what happened to the doctor. No, this was the next best thing, a desperate action taken by a desperate man all in the name of love. No matter how much Garak had protested over the course of the past year or so that his feelings ran shallow where his lover's ran deep, Quark had never been fooled. Now, there was no way the tailor could ever deny it to him again and expect to retain a smidgen of credibility. This was true romance at its best, and he had an important part to play.

 

He saw the two Bajoran nurses Rom had described to him at the entrance and hastened his steps. He had almost managed to barrel right between both of them when one seized him by the crook of one elbow and the other his other. “What do you think you're doing?” the dark haired one asked, eyes narrowed.

 

“I'm going to see Doctor Bashir,” he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to want to do.

 

“Visiting hours are over,” the other said. “You'll have to come back tomorrow.”

 

Quark shook his head. “What if tomorrow is too late?” he asked. “What if the poor doctor is dead by then?”

 

“Then you'll get to visit the body,” the first said matter-of-factly.

 

“You can't do this to me!” the bar owner protested. “I have rights! You Bajorans, always crying and moaning about how the Starfleeters don't respect your traditions and beliefs. What about my traditions and beliefs? What about my...well, the Universal Translator won't manage this one, so let's just say for the sake of argument, pagh?”

 

“What about it?” the second asked, releasing Quark's elbow and folding his arms skeptically.

 

“You'd doom me to wander the world an empty shade after death?” the Ferengi asked, looking appalled. “Don't you see? It's my fault this happened. If I hadn't been so naïve about what that horrible Lethean wanted with my friend, I never would have introduced them over lunch. I never would have exposed the good doctor to his evil designs.”

 

“I appreciate that you feel bad about this,” the first said, trying to be reasonable, “but there's nothing we can do about that. It's up to Nurse Decla, and she says nobody gets in tonight.”

 

“Well, where is she?” he asked, craning his neck trying to see around them. “Let me speak to her directly. I'm sure she'll understand!”

 

The two glanced at each other. “She's on a cot in the doctor's room,” the first said. “She went to sleep about an hour ago and said she wasn't to be disturbed.”

 

Quark eyed each in turn regretfully. “I really didn't want to have to do this in public. It's very...unusual... allowing others to see the atonement ceremony, but I'm not going to be doomed to haunt this station for eternity just because some nurse wants her beauty rest.” He raised his voice and began to sing in the screechiest, most piercing tones he could manage. He hurt his own ears in the process, but it had its desired effect. Within moments, a very angry, very scary looking Nurse Decla was bearing down on him with the full force of her gaze and her wrath.

 

Garak

Engineering Access Tunnel

Infirmary

 

Rom winced and immediately adjusted the volume of the feed they got from Quark. Even with his weak hearing, Garak found the sounds coming through the tiny device painful. They had been in the tube long enough for his old phobia to start playing havoc with his nerves. Rom had worked like a fiend to make the proper adjustment to the sensor feeds, but neither he nor Garak could make the move into the actual infirmary as long as they could see Decla lying on her side on the cot she had brought into the room. “Now or never,” Rom said, glancing quickly at him. “Remember, you don't have long.”

 

“I know,” Garak said. He didn't wait to be told twice, kicking out the access ventilation grill and hoping that it wasn't heard over Quark's caterwauling. As he scrambled out of the tube, he felt a wave of intense relief. He could breathe again without the terrible sensation of walls closing in around him. He straightened and wasted no time in approaching the bed where Julian lay.

 

He looks so small, he thought. The doctor was a slender man, but somehow, when he was awake and aware, he had so much energy that it wasn't something Garak ever noticed all that much. His life force held any sign of frailty at bay. Even sleeping, he was simply peaceful, not diminished. He searched the smooth, lax features for any sign of the trouble he knew would be playing out in the man's mind thanks to the Lethean's malice. No, his dear doctor was being held down so deeply in his own psyche that there was nothing to be seen.

 

Carefully, he reached his hand to smooth back the wiry waves of hair above his forehead. Julian felt cool to the touch, as though the energy that fueled him was already in retreat. Regret. He held so much of it that hours of time to express it might not be enough, for all that he had withheld, all that he had obfuscated, all of the pain and uncertainty he had given to this young man for the simple act of loving him. The part that hurt the worst was that he knew that even now, knowing what it might come to, he would not have done anything differently. It just wasn't his way.

 

Reaching into his trousers pocket, he withdrew something cold and heavy. It was far too large to stay on any of the doctor's slim fingers. Even over his thumb, it twisted too easily. It could fall off, roll under the bed or one of the counters, and no one would know it was there until it was too late. “Garak,” Rom hissed from the tube, “you need to hurry. Quark can't keep her much longer.”

 

He heard him, but there was something he still had to do. Quickly scanning the transparent cabinet doors, his eyes lit upon a roll of medical tape. He fetched it and tore off a large piece using his teeth, then wrapped the length around the lower curve of the sigil ring again and again until it formed a tight, white cocoon. This time, when he slipped the ring over Julian's thumb, it stayed put snugly.

 

He traced a fingertip over the black, platinum inlaid cabochon, the design the ancient sigil of the house of Tain, and then bent to place a soft, chaste kiss on Julian's lips. I love you, he thought. He felt ashamed that he couldn't even allow himself to think such a thing unless the one for whom he felt so much was beyond reason or reach to know it. Are you afraid you'd say it if you could, or that you wouldn't? He didn't have an answer for that, but now at least, if Julian did manage to awaken, he would know that his lover had been there for him, that he hadn't allowed anything to keep him away, even if he couldn't stay. In one last move before leaving, he turned the ring inward. Nothing but the small lump of medical tape showed against the tawny skin. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.

 

Sheer willpower drove him back into the hateful tube, and he and Rom pulled the grate back into place with mere seconds to spare. They crab crawled backward until they were well out of danger of being overheard before Rom said, “You didn't say anything to him.”

 

Garak sighed softly and shook his head. “He wouldn't have heard me anyway. Let's get out of here, and Rom?” He squeezed his friend's upper arm. “Thank you.”

 

He left Quark's Bar by one of the side doors, not wanting to draw attention to himself or run into anyone he knew. All he wanted to do was to return to his quarters where maybe he'd manage some emotional release, or maybe he wouldn't. At least he'd be alone and free to express himself without need of reserve. Maybe he'd even manage a poem. He hadn't written in years.

 

When he let himself in, he saw that he had a pre-recorded message waiting for him on the comm. Rubbing hard at his temples, he closed the distance and triggered it, surprised to see Kira's face. Her expression was odd, but he was too wrung out to be able to give it the proper attention. Let her keep her secrets, at least for that night. “Garak, I thought you'd like to know that I've managed to make some headway on your problem with Decla. We should be able to get you visitation by tomorrow afternoon if everything goes as planned. I'm sorry I couldn't make it sooner. This is the best I could do.” She hesitated, then added quickly, “Hang in there,” and abruptly ended the recording.

 

It was more than he expected. He didn't have the heart to tell her or anyone else that at this point, the issue was moot. If he never saw Julian again before he died, he had done all that he could. Being there, not being there, it didn't matter. Julian was beyond his reach. Seeing him so flat and small in that bed drove that point home in a way prior intellectual knowledge of Letheans never could. There was only one thing left to him now. It would have to wait until he knew for a fact the doctor was gone. He wouldn't risk indirectly being the hand that sent him to his grave. There was still a chance, a very small chance, that his lover would fight his way out of this situation. If he did, the Lethean would meet his fate some time down the line, after he had a chance to grow complacent. If he didn't, then Garak would soon be heading to that prison colony Quark mentioned, and it wouldn't matter to him. Tain wouldn't let him survive a week off the station, but would he at least understand? He tried to imagine his father hearing the news, and imagination failed him. After over fifty years, the elder Cardassian was still a mystery to him in most ways.

 

He stayed wakeful through the night, staring out his star port and seeing little beyond the shades that occupied his mind, past and present intertwined. Julian was there; he wasn't. There was no part of his quarters that didn't contain memory, no part of his body that couldn't vividly conjure a touch or caress. He felt haunted by the living, or more accurately by a man in limbo. He ached to touch him, hold him. For once, he would be the one to warm a cold body and a colder bed. For once, he wouldn't hold back. It was easy to think such things when he knew they were impossible.

 

At some point the next morning, a doze caught him unaware on his couch. He awoke a few hours later to the sound of his door chime, and his chest constricted with worry. Was this it? Were they coming to tell him that Julian was gone? He answered the door to Odo. The changeling had the decency to take him out of his suspense immediately. “I'm here to escort you to your visitation. They won't allow you there alone. I'm sorry.”

 

So it was time for the farce, the Bajoran government's gesture of throwing him a bone and making a token move to show the watching Starfleeters that they were willing to pay more than lip service to the treaty. “One moment, Constable. I'm rumpled and I wasn't expecting you so soon. Do you mind?” he asked.

 

The man shook his head, folding his arms and stepping to the side in the corridor. Since he made no move to come into Garak's quarters, Garak made no move to invite him. Instead, he hurried to the back, changed into one of his most flattering tunics, and combed his hair to perfection. He emerged into the corridor and nodded formally. “I'm ready now.”

 

“You wouldn't happen to know about a disturbance at the infirmary last night, would you?” Odo asked, looking straight ahead while they walked together.

 

“I'm afraid not,” he replied. “What sort of disturbance?”

 

“I thought for certain you would know, since it happened after you frightened half of Quark's customers out of their wits. Does that ring any bells?” He glanced sideways at Garak.

 

“Scared them?” the Cardassian blinked innocently.

 

“They seemed convinced you were going to kill Quark. Of course, when I asked him about it, he denied it. However, something prompted him to become remorseful last night, to the point that he insisted on serenading Doctor Bashir from the doorway of the infirmary, since they wouldn't allow him inside. He claimed it was a Ferengi ritual of atonement and death. Ever heard of such a thing?”

 

“I can't say that I have,” he said lightly. “It sounds very strange. I didn't think they were that sort.”

 

“They're not,” Odo grated, seemingly content to drop the subject as they neared the turbo lift. They rode in silence the rest of the way. Garak strolled down the Promenade with Odo at his side as though it were any normal day. When he entered the infirmary, he allowed the security chief to take the lead and ignored the glares of the few staff members in his view. Decla was nowhere to be seen. He thought that she might be waiting in Julian's room and was relieved to find that she was not. His anger had yet to grow cold. While hot, he was capable of anything at all.

 

“I'll do the best that I can to give you your privacy,” Odo said, stepping to the far side of the room and turning his back.

 

“Thank you,” he said. He pulled up a chair and sat by the bedside, taking one of the limp, cool hands between his own and beginning to talk of inanities and inconsequentials. Just because Decla wasn't there to be seen, it didn't mean that she wasn't watching somehow. He determined to give her nothing to feed from, neither word nor gesture that he was concerned or hurt by her keeping them apart. He acted as though he felt certain that Julian would awaken at any time, certainly in time for his birthday party the next day.

 

As he spoke, he privately poured over the man's gentle features, the dark curve of lashes against finely sculpted cheeks, the high arch of the bridge of his nose, the well shaped lips that could purse in mischief and humor in the blink of an eye. Yes, he was beautiful, inside and out, and there was no longer a part of his body that the tailor didn't know intimately. He wished that he had more time to explore the mind. When his time was up, he tucked the ring clad hand he had held beneath the blanket, glad that at least so far no one had discovered the jewelry or removed it.

 

When it was time for him to leave, Odo led him from the room. Dax and Commander Sisko waited in the front, each of them greeting him pleasantly. Commander Sisko assured him that they would be keeping a close eye on Julian's situation and that he would be informed by one of them if anything significantly changed. He thanked them and returned to his quarters. He had no intention of putting himself on display. It was a small station. Gossip traveled quickly. He knew it was likely that the situation was already a subject of wagging tongues. With nothing else to do but wait, he sat at his terminal and began to write. It had eased his ache years before, when he was forced to be apart from the woman he loved. Perhaps now it would do the same.

 

Julian

The Infirmary

 

When he opened his eyes, he could hardly believe it. He found himself staring up into the faces of Dax, Commander Sisko, and one of his Bajoran nurses. He could tell by how he felt that he wasn't aged as he had been in the...hallucination? Nightmare? Whatever it was that the Lethean had done to him, it hadn't affected his body. As he cupped his fingers beneath his blanket, he felt something rounded and hard against his thumb. No one seemed to know where it had come from or what significance it had. He wondered if it had something to do with Altovar. Dax removed it for him and sealed it in a clear bag to be turned over to Odo for evidence. He tolerated their fussing over him and scans and found himself wondering why Garak wasn't there. Of course, he had no idea how long he had been out of it. It wasn't until the Commander left him with Dax that he felt comfortable asking.

 

“Two days,” she said. “How do you feel?”

 

“Compared to how I felt in that nightmare, amazing,” he said. Glancing around the room, he added, “I'm surprised Garak isn't here.”

 

Dax's lips compressed, her eyes flashing with a level of anger he wasn't accustomed to seeing in the usually cool and collected woman. “He was here earlier,” she said, seeming to consider how much else to reveal.

 

“And?” he prompted.

 

“I don't want to upset you so soon after awakening. You seem fine, but we don't really know,” she said, sounding frustrated.

 

“Dax, believe me, it's upsetting me far more not knowing what's going on. Tell me. What did Garak do?”

 

She shook her head abruptly. “Not Garak,” she said. “Decla. Ever since you lost consciousness, she has insisted that almost no one be able to see you, especially Garak. She called him a security risk. Benjamin, Nerys, and Odo have been working almost nonstop to try to gain him access. All they managed was an hour for him a few hours ago. He says it's a personal grudge she has against him. Is that true?”

 

He nodded slowly. “I believe it is,” he said. “I don't know the full details of everything that transpired between them, but trust me when I say there's no love lost on either side.” He was furious, all the more so because he knew that without direct evidence, he couldn't fire her or demote her for her actions. According to the strictest interpretation of protocol, she had been well within her rights to do what she had done. Of course, she had to know that, too. “Help me stand, Dax. I want to contact him, let him know I'm all right and that I'll see him soon,” he said.

 

He did so, got himself checked out over Decla's objections, and walked the short distance to the security office to speak with Odo about his ordeal. He sat across from him and handed him the bag with the odd ring, telling him everything he could recall about his very strange experiences. When he finished his account, he asked, “Do you think he established the connection with me through that ring?”

 

Odo opened the bag and tipped it out into his palm, an odd expression flickering in his blue eyes. “No, Doctor,” he said. “I suggest you put it back on.” He offered it across the desk.

 

“I don't understand,” he said, accepting it and turning it to have a closer look.

 

“I've seen rings like that before,” the security chief said patiently, “during the occupation.”

 

“It's...Cardassian?” he asked, wanting to be sure. Odo nodded. Smiling to himself, he slipped it back into place, amused at the ring of medical tape. “I suppose Garak gave it to me a few hours ago.”

 

“Perhaps,” Odo said, his look pensive. He offered the doctor a PADD. “You might like to see what we know about these Letheans. You're very lucky to be alive.”

 

Julian read over the information silently. No one else might know it, but he knew why he survived the ordeal when so few others ever had. It made everything Altovar had said to him about fearing his own potential hit a little closer to home. At last he lifted his gaze from the PADD and handed it back. “Are we done here, then?” he asked. “Garak said he'd meet me at the Replimat. Considering everything Decla put him through, I don't want to keep him waiting.”

 

“We're done,” the changeling said, nodding. “You've been helpful in my investigation, Doctor.”

 

“Glad to be of help, and I appreciate everything you did to get Garak in to see me. Dax filled me in. It means a lot to me.”

 

“You're welcome,” Odo said with a slight incline of his head.

 

He couldn't help but to smile at the sight of the Cardassian at their usual table, looking handsome and comported. Garak stood when he approached and pressed his palm. As he looked into blue eyes, he saw that there was more emotion than this outward show indicated. It was all he could do not to lean in and kiss him right then and there. Instead, he took his arm lightly as the two stepped over to one of the replicators. “Are you certain you're fit to be checked out?” Garak asked.

 

“I am,” he said. “Don't you start that, too. Besides, I have far too much to tell you about what happened to want to wait another moment. It was utterly fascinating.”

 

The two of them sat with their food, and he described the whole course of events with the same level of detail that he used for Odo. He felt genuine embarrassment when Garak pointed out with his usual eye for the important facts that his mind had cast his lover in the role of the villain and then amazement when the man seemed to find it encouraging rather than insulting. As always there was so much more to the Cardassian than met the eye. They shared a smile and continued eating.

 

“By the way,” he said casually, “I noticed I was wearing a little something extra besides a hospital gown when I awoke. I actually thought it had something to do with Altovar until Odo set me straight.” He held his hand out over the table. “What can you tell me about this?”

 

“Most Cardassian iconography represents the predatory animals of our planet,” the tailor replied. “That particular species hasn't been seen on our world in over a thousand years. It was quite the fierce hunter in its day, so I hear, known for its strength and endurance.”

 

“I never took you for the superstitious sort,” he said, touched yet also relishing this rare opportunity to turn his teasing around on the man. “Adorning me with a talisman to help pull me out of the clutches of my enemy.”

 

“Doctor,” Garak said drolly, “you're reading quite a bit more into that than you ought. You humans are the ones with vivid imaginations and the tendency to anthropomorphize everything around you. I merely wanted you to know that I had been to see you. Of course,” he added a bit touchily, “had I known you wouldn't recognize an obviously Cardassian design when you saw it, I would have simply left a business card.”

 

Julian threw his head back and laughed. “I can't believe you,” he said. “You're the one who is so secretive about your people that I barely know a thing. I suspect even most of that is more or less creativity on your part. I appreciate the gesture, nonetheless. I suppose you'll be wanting it back now?”

 

He regarded him silently, his fleeting expression making Julian wish now more than ever that he could at least sometimes sneak a peek inside that inscrutable head. “No, my dear,” he said lightly. “You keep it. Consider it another early birthday present. If you like, we can even get it resized for you.”

 

“No,” he said, rubbing a finger over the tape. “It's entirely too endearing that you wrapped it like this just so that it would stay on. I wouldn't change a thing. Will you at least tell me the name of the animal it represents?”

 

“It's not important,” he said, his smile mysterious. “Why look back when so much of interest still lies ahead?”

 

In that he was correct. The birthday party the next day, no surprise thanks to Miles' inability to keep a secret, was Dax's grandest affair yet. The Mount Olympus holosuite program was lush and fanciful, and it seemed that everyone there, including Garak, was genuinely enjoying themselves. They feasted on ancient Earth delicacies, drank rather more wine than was prudent, and chased wood nymphs and dryads through the sparkling forest, laughter ringing from all around.

 

A few hours into it, something went wrong. The holosuite shut itself down, leaving all of them standing in a blank room with a plain grid on the walls. “Ugh,” Dax said, “I'll go tell Quark.” She trudged out with her toga balled in one hand to keep from tripping. Everyone else waited, looking around at one another and feeling a little silly without the scenery to support the costumes. When she returned, the news wasn't good. Apparently, a power coupling had blown and wouldn't be fixable in time for the party to continue.

 

Disappointed, Julian put the best face on it that he could, smiling and thanking everyone for coming and making the effort to make the party such a success. In twos and threes, they all filed away, leaving him and Garak to deal with the small mountain of real presents left behind. As they were gathering them up, Quark entered the holosuite. “Gentlemen,” the Ferengi said, “just allow me to say how sorry I am for this. You're welcome to have a free drink at the bar on me.”

 

“A free drink?” Garak snorted. “Your holosuite blows during someone's thirtieth birthday party, and that's the best you can do?”

 

“It's all right, Garak,” Julian said, not wanting to make a scene. “It's not his fault.”

 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Quark said. “That's very reasonable of you. In light of that, I have just one more thing to say.”

 

“What's that?” he asked, feeling suddenly suspicious.

 

The holosuite came to life around them once more, but it was no Earth scene. An arid landscape showed through elliptical windows, and at the center of the circular chamber was a platform of sorts of flat rocks surrounding a central heat source. He heard Garak hiss a sharp intake of breath at the same time that Quark said, “Surprise,” offered them both a knowing, toothy smile, and left them to their own devices.

 

“Garak?” he asked.

 

“It's a Cardassian style spa,” he said, too taken off guard to disguise his reaction.

 

Smiling, Julian stepped closer and took the stack of presents out of his lover's hands. “I'm sure you're going to show me how everything in here works,” he said.

 

Garak smiled a rare, uncomplicated smile and said, “Nothing would please me more.”

 

Odo

The Infirmary

 

Few things satisfied the changeling more than catching someone who deserved it flat footed. With Julian occupied with his birthday party, it was the perfect opportunity to have an overdue conversation with the Bajoran nurse who had caused all of them such grief. Garak might not have been his favorite person by any stretch of imagination, but the Cardassian tailor hadn't deserved that treatment. It would've been even worse for him had the doctor not pulled through. Nobody abused other people on the station on his watch, not if he had anything to say about it. He took the woman's following of the letter of the law rather than the spirit as a particularly personal insult.

 

When he stepped through the doors, one of the nurses on duty directed him toward the back, seeming to know who he was there to see, even if he didn't know why. Nodding, Odo walked down to one of the labs, finding the woman finishing up with a sample analysis. “Constable,” she said without turning her full attention from her work, “shouldn't you be at the party?”

 

“I've already paid my respects,” he said. “Computer, close and lock door to infirmary lab one.”

 

That got her attention. She pulled away from the screen and turned to face him. “Was that necessary?” she asked, arching a brow.

 

“If you'd like for your entire staff on duty to have the chance to overhear our conversation, I'd be more than happy to open the door again,” he said pleasantly.

 

“Is there a reason I wouldn't want them to hear it?” she asked, tilting her head.

 

“I'll let you tell me in a moment,” he replied. “Legate Pa'Ren,” he continued. “Sound familiar?”

 

She feigned giving it some thought, apparently unaware of how well he could read the most minute of facial twitches. “I'm afraid not,” she said regretfully. “Should it?”

 

“Perhaps not,” he said, his turn to feign emotion, understanding. “After all, it was over twenty years ago, and I believe that you knew him as Gul Pa'Ren, or maybe even just as Feylan.”

 

“Ah, yes,” she said breezily. “As you say, it was long ago. I'm very busy, Constable. If you have a point to this trot down memory lane, I'd appreciate if you'd make it.”

 

“Would you like for me to open the door first?” he asked, gesturing back to it.

 

Irritation flickered in her green eyes. “No,” she said tightly.

 

“Then I believe you already grasp my point, Nurse Decla,” he said. “It didn't take much for me to uncover that episode from your past. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the prisoner you supposedly accidentally dispatched alive and well on Cardassia Prime. He remembered you, too, quite fondly. I wonder if those who respect you in the Provisional Government would be equally kindly inclined to discover that you put your entire resistance cell at risk by giving in to sentiment?”

 

Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. “Blackmail? You? The vaunted, high and mighty, eminently fair security chief who is supposedly beyond reproach?”

 

“You mistake me, Madame,” he said gravely. “I would never stoop to such a level, no, but if I can find that information, there are others on this station who can as well. I can think of one in particular who is probably quite dangerous when given a reason to be. In fact, you gave him just such a reason. I can only protect you so far when you go around making unsavory enemies.”

 

“So this is concern for my safety,” she spat, folding her arms.

 

“People make mistakes,” he said. “I'm willing to consider the possibility that your recent actions can be taken in that light. Of course, if there's another incident with similar results, I may have to rethink my entire position. I don't want to see anyone on this station hurt, including Garak. Do you understand?”

 

“Perfectly,” she said, glaring venom.

 

“Good, then I can set all of this unpleasantness behind me and close my case. Thank you for your cooperation. Computer, unlock and open infirmary lab one door.” As the door hissed open, he strode out, not at all certain that the woman would be wise enough to heed his warning. He had seen too many looks like that to believe she'd let things go, and he had known enough Cardassians in his time to be sure that Garak would not. The one positive thing he could say about working on Deep Space Nine was that it was always interesting. Then again, perhaps boredom was underrated.

 

The End

Julian

Monastery Dining Hall

Bajor

 

The meal was a simple one, but it made up for lack of variety, just hasperat and mapa bread, with quantity and quality. Serving dishes and pitchers of water and tea lined the centers of the two long dining tables with the diners expected to help themselves. Odo was back from wherever he had been, and Garak had changed clothes for some reason. He didn't give it too much thought, because he was starving by the time they got around to eating. He had to admit that maybe Garak was onto something about religion when prayers dragged on and on with all that delicious food tantalizingly in reach and smelling delectable.

 

He expected the dinner conversation to be subdued and somber. He couldn't have been further from the truth. The vedeks, ranjens, and prylars of Bareil's order conversed with one another and the guests in their midst freely. Bareil became the topic of conversation many times in the night. Apparently, he could be something of a prankster and was a terrible cook. “Prophets!” a raucous young man who was seated two stools down from Julian said as he wiped his eyes from the spicy hasperat, “Do you remember the time he tried to substitute the pickling brine for the hasperat when the kitchen ran out?”

 

“I told him my mother could do a better job,” somebody else interjected. He paused a beat. “He had my mother's cooking. He knew what an insult that was!” Laughter rang all round.

 

“Your mother's cooking is the insult!” the first speaker said, followed by more laughter and general agreement from all quarters.

 

Glancing at Kira, he saw her smiling and laughing along with the rest of them, her large, dark eyes shining. She seemed to be taking all of these little tidbits of information in, small slices of a life well lived, and holding them close. There were times in the past when Julian had found himself in awe of the Bajoran spirit and their ability to put a good face on the worst of circumstances. He felt it all over again, that in the midst of their pain, all of these people who loved Bareil Antos, as a brother, a friend, or a lover, found the laughter and the moments to celebrate rather than a reason to mourn.

 

Glancing to his right a few seats down, he could just see Odo with his habitual expression of keen observation. He noticed the changeling politely engaged anyone who addressed him, but he was obviously out of his element in all of the unbridled cheer. Garak seemed to have disappeared entirely. He looked around sharply with a start, only to find the man just one vedek away from him to his left. How had he missed that the first time? He made eye contact with the Cardassian over the short woman's head and read faint amusement there. Had he done something amusing? He didn't think so; however, he felt certain the amusement was directed at him and not at what was happening around them. He doubted that the tailor would tell him what it was if he asked, so instead he gave him a warm smile, continued his tongue punishing meal, and tuned back in to the conversation.

 

“If you want hasperat that'll strip your tongue, let this one in the kitchen,” Daran said, pointing at the top of Kira's head from his seat beside her.

 

The Major smiled modestly and put a hand up. “Now, Daran, don't go spreading tales,” she said. “I'm useless with anything domestic.”

 

“Bah! Nonsense!” He looked around at the others nearby and put a hand to his chest. “Never in my life had better than the night we managed to get her in the kitchen to do something besides filch pinches of bread dough.”

 

She laughed and swatted his arm. “Well, I felt guilty,” she said, “after I ruined the arboretum pathway like an Andorian bull in a tea shop! I had to do something useful.”

 

“Who'd have thought that anyone could break rocks with their bare hands?” Daran asked, laughing.

 

“Don't forget Antos' poor foot,” she added.

 

He wished that he had something to add. Unfortunately, most of his interactions with the vedek came after the man was in his infirmary fighting for his life. They weren't the sort of anecdotes that would fit with the flow of the conversation. When the meal ended, they all lingered for just a while to give those with kitchen duty time to clear off all the plates and cups. Then it was time for them to take their evening prayers and for the guests to get settled in for the night.

 

Julian was glad to see how many members of the small community came to offer Kira hugs and how receptive she was to their outpouring of affection. Seeing her relaxed among her own people like that, he realized that in so many ways he didn't know her at all. He hardly recognized this smiling, gracious woman who was so quick to laugh and joke. Glancing at Garak, he had the same thought of him. How would Garak be in a group of Cardassians around whom he was comfortable? It pained him to think that he may never have the chance to find out.

 

As much as he wanted to be able to hug and kiss the man good-night, he refrained. He didn't want to push anything in Kira's face, and he definitely didn't feel comfortable asking Odo to give them a moment of privacy. He said his good-nights cheerfully, hugged Kira because she was receptive to it and in a decent mood, and retreated to his room.

 

He liked the room a lot. The walls were covered with a warm, honey toned stucco. The furnishings were all obviously hand made and crafted very well, and best of all was the bed, a nice, soft bed piled with woven blankets in rich earth tones. His oval window during the day had shown him a view over the arboretum. Now it was a black circle in the wall that reflected the room and his own face back to him when he stood before it. When he listened hard, he could hear the sounds of night insects and some other sorts of fauna sawing, whistling, and croaking into the night air. That was one thing he missed living on a space station.

 

Shaking his head at his fanciful thoughts, he grabbed his tooth cleaner and headed toward the communal bath. He found Odo standing in the corridor just outside the door leading inside. “What are you doing?” he asked, startled.

 

“Standing guard for Garak,” the changeling said. “He wanted warning before anyone walked in on him.”

 

Thinking of how private his lover was, Julian inwardly winced. The communal bathing arrangement had to be all but torture for the Cardassian. “That's very kind of you, Odo,” he said.

 

“I understand the desire for privacy, Doctor,” Odo replied. He suddenly smiled very slightly. “I believe in your case, he may make an exception.”

 

Julian felt his cheeks color. If anyone managed to surprise him more with his observational skills than Garak, it had to be Odo. “Thank you, Constable,” he said, offering him a genuine smile and passing into the room beyond.

 

Garak turned from his ablutions at one of the sinks and relaxed when he saw who it was. “I don't like to complain,” he said, amusing Julian, for complaining had never seemed to be a difficulty of the tailor's, “but this bathing arrangement is downright primitive. Do you realize they don't even separate male from female?” He sounded thoroughly taken aback.

 

“The vedeks share everything equally here,” Julian said, stepping over to him and sneaking a quick kiss to his cheek. “I think it's very nice, actually, that they let nothing stand in the way of their sense of community and common goals.”

 

Garak blotted his face dry with his towel and regarded Julian via their shared reflection in the large mirror before them. “Much the same could be said of us Cardassians,” he said with a lilt to his voice the doctor had come to recognize as enjoyment in scoring a point on him, “a sense of community and common goals, and we have achieved great things in a relatively short amount of time...without ever sharing our bathrooms with one another. It's refreshing to see someone from Starfleet, with their unhealthy obsession with individuality, recognize the value in the collective.”

 

With his lips twitching, Julian took an end of Garak's towel and draped it around his neck, pulling him nose to nose with him. “My dearest tailor,” he purred, “nobody likes a know-it-all.” He was rewarded with one of the sounds he liked best in the world and didn't hear nearly often enough, Garak's free, openly amused laughter. The tailor generously waited for him to finish cleaning his teeth and washing his face so that they could share a very brief, yet very intimate kiss. “Sleep well,” Julian told him, letting him precede him from the bathroom. For his part, he planned to take full advantage of the chance to sleep in a soft, comfortable bed for a change.

 

He awakened to knocking at his door while his window showed the blue black of deep night. His disorientation and sleepiness told him it was nowhere near time for him to get up. There was a strangely furtive and urgent quality to that knocking. He stumbled from the bed, trailing a blanket half over his shoulders, and threw back his small bolt. Kira almost bowled him over barging into the room followed closely on her heels by Odo. “We have a problem,” she said. “Garak is missing.”

 

Odo

Julian's Monastery Quarters

Bajor

 

It was one of the few things he truly loathed about his own nature, the limitation that required him to return to his liquid state every sixteen hours. No matter what his intentions, he never managed to retain any sense of awareness whatsoever when in that state. He likened it to what the solids called sleep, except for the fact that he couldn't be awakened or brought out of it until the time was up. He had watched Garak bolt the door from the inside when the two of them retired to their shared quarters, turned out the light, and heard the Cardassian's breathing slow and even out into the pattern he recognized as asleep. When it came time for him to pour into his bucket, he hadn't worried overly much that anything would happen, but when he had come out of the cycle, Garak was gone, his bed cold, and the bolt on the door thrown open.

 

He explained all of this succinctly to the doctor, having already told Nerys. He didn't like the wide, worried look in the man's open face, liked even less that something had happened on his watch to cause it. He liked this human doctor, more than he liked most of the other Fleeters, and in his own way, he liked Garak, too. “I see no choice but to awaken the vedeks and begin a search of the buildings and grounds,” he said.

 

“Agreed,” Kira said, raking a hand impatiently back through her short hair. “Did he say anything odd to you, Odo, give any sort of indication that he intended to walk around at night?”

 

“No,” he said. “I briefly left the room so that he could dress for bed. When I returned, he latched the door, climbed under the covers, and asked me to turn out the light. He fell asleep very quickly.”

 

“How quickly?” the doctor interjected.

 

“Within five minutes,” the changeling said. “Why?”

 

Bashir frowned slightly. “That's not like him,” he said, “especially in a strange place. Even when he's perfectly comfortable with where he is, it usually takes him at least a half hour.”

 

“Maybe he had a stressful day,” Kira offered. “Being around all of us like this can't be easy for him.”

 

“No,” the doctor said. “I mean, yes, I'm sure this is taxing for him, but if anything, that would make him less likely to be able to sleep, not more. Constable, did he seem to you as though he were in pain? Any signs of stress or a headache?”

 

Odo thought back to how Garak looked before bed. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing like that. In fact he looked very relaxed in the bed.”

 

“He didn't mention that the bed was too soft?” Bashir pressed.

 

“No,” Odo said, starting to feel impatient. “Doctor, if you're getting at something, please make your point.”

 

“Well, I'm not sure, but it sounds like there's a possibility he was drugged,” he said, frowning.

 

“I'll go awaken Daran,” Kira said grimly. “I am not looking forward to this conversation. Odo, why don't you and Julian go back to the room and have another look, see if there's anything you might have missed,” she suggested.

 

He didn't feel confident that the doctor's presence would make much of a difference in what he could observe, but he kept the remark to himself. There was no sense in being insulting. Nodding, he waited for Bashir to dress in his uniform, and the two of them hurried down the dimly lit corridor toward the foyer. When they reached it, he held a hand up for the doctor to wait. On his first passage through here after the realization that Garak was gone, he had been intent on nothing more than awakening Nerys and informing her of the problem. Now he wanted a closer look. He peered at the floor, walking slowly all around the area of the front door and then backtracking toward the smaller passage that led to the storeroom.

 

“What are we looking for?” Bashir asked, watching him anxiously.

 

“I don't know yet,” Odo said, “anything out of place or out of the ordinary, any sign that Garak may have come this way. Check the doors, Doctor; see if they're still locked.” He figured that if he gave the man something to do, he'd be more likely to stay out of his way.

 

“They are,” the doctor said, tugging sharply on each.

 

Odo nodded, figuring as much. He looked at all the tracks in the dust of the passage. Unfortunately, they had passed through there several times since their arrival. Any tracks he saw that looked like they could have come from Garak could have come at any time during that time frame. Bashir crowded closer to him than he liked. Again, he held his tongue. If he snapped at him, it would just agitate him and keep him from being as useful as he might be otherwise.

 

They reached the room together. Odo had the doctor hang back while he took one final thorough look then let him inside. The bed showed no signs of a struggle, the covers thrown back as one would expect from someone simply getting up in the night. Nothing else had been disturbed or removed from the room as far as he could tell. He watched the doctor take down Garak's bag and begin going through it.

 

“This is odd,” Bashir said. “All of his clothes are in here, except for his pajamas and a belt I saw him wearing earlier.”

 

“Mm,” Odo said, surprised that he had noticed. Maybe Garak hadn't just been being difficult when he insisted that Odo match his boots. His respect for both men notched up a tad. So few solids had any real appreciation for detail. “The belt isn't missing,” he told the doctor. “I was the belt. He was wearing pajamas when he went to bed.”

 

Bashir gave a start. “You were the—well, never mind. That makes sense. What doesn't make sense to me at all is that Garak would go wandering around the monastery in the middle of the night in nothing more than his pajamas. You saw how he was about the bathroom. He would never willingly allow a bunch of Bajorans to see him in such a state of undress.”

 

Odo opened his mouth to say more, but Major Kira and Daran interrupted him, striding swiftly into the room. “I've called an assembly in the meeting hall,” Daran informed them without preamble. “I've called everyone to be there with the exception of the two staffing the temple to watch over Vedek Bareil's body. They simply cannot be called away, but if you need them questioned, I can do that for you.”

 

“I'm going to need access to the kitchen and the dinner dishes,” Doctor Bashir said. “I'm afraid that Garak may have been drugged.”

 

“Drugged how?” Kira asked. “We all ate and drank the same things. If Garak was drugged, wouldn't that mean that all of us were?”

 

“Not necessarily, Major,” Odo said. “There are ways.” He turned his attention to Daran. “With your permission, I'd like access to all of the personnel files you have on everyone here.”

 

“What are you looking for?” the vedek asked warily.

 

“I'll know it when I see it,” the changeling told him with an expectant look.

 

“Well,” the man said reluctantly, “all right. I wouldn't usually do this, but the last thing we need is an incident with the Cardassian Union so shortly after the signing of the treaty.” All four of them looked at one another, and in an instant, they knew they had hit upon a very likely motive.

 

Kira made a soft, impatient sound. “As much as I hate to have to do it, I should probably go inform the Kai personally. I don't want this getting to her some other way.” She looked at the other three sharply. “I don't need to tell you how damaging this could be to all of us and Antos' hard work if it gets out. We need to keep this under wraps for as long as we possibly can. Julian, don't contact Deep Space Nine about this unless you absolutely have to. For now, it's a Bajoran matter, not a Starfleet one, and I intend to keep it that way.”

 

The doctor nodded his understanding. “Keep in close touch with me, both of you,” he said. “As soon as you find anything, I want to know. I'm going to have to use the lab facilities on the Mekong. Use the secured channel for anything sensitive.”

 

Odo and Kira nodded. “If you can take me somewhere I can start analyzing those personnel files, I'd appreciate it,” he told Daran. They all spread out. They had a lot of work to do, and time wasn't on their side. The funeral would be starting in less than eight hours.

 

Kira

Kai Winn's Abode

Bajor

 

With Daran's support, it was easy gaining access to the Kai's home at the monastery. Kira found herself admitted right away and led to a small side room that was tastefully appointed and smelled strongly of incense. However, the wait seemed interminable. Urgent means urgent, damn it, she thought with intense frustration as she paced a tight circle. What had possessed her to listen to Julian and bring Garak along? Every instinct had yelled at her that it was a horrible idea and that nothing good could come of it. She had wanted to believe differently, wanted to hope the way Antos had hoped. What had hope ever gotten her but kicked in the teeth, repeatedly? She ground those teeth now and wished that she could storm Winn's bedroom and demand to speak to her right away. Every passing second brought them closer to disaster.

 

When the Kai swept into the room, she was fully dressed and bejeweled. To look into those cool, glass green eyes, one would never believe that the middle aged woman had been awakened in the middle of the night. “My goodness, child,” she said mildly, “you're in quite a state.”

 

Kira frowned, feeling her shoulders twitch at the hated address. Had it come from Kai Opaka, it would've sounded comforting. Coming from Winn it was pure condescension, and it grated every last nerve. “That's because I've been here at least fifteen minutes,” she said sharply.

 

Winn graced her with a small smile and tilted her head. “I'm here now, Major, and you're wasting even more precious time complaining instead of getting to the point.”

 

Pressing her lips together so hard they numbed, Kira gave a taut nod. “You're right. We have a problem. Garak has gone missing.”

 

“The Cardassian you insisted on bringing here?” Winn asked, her eyes widening.

 

“I didn't insist!” Kira said, outraged. She swiftly shifted tacks. Letting the insufferable woman bait her would solve nothing. “That doesn't matter right now. What matters is that he's gone, and it's already looking as though it could be foul play.”

 

Winn turned away from her, one hand to her chest lightly, the other fiddling with a curtain cord. “I knew that it was a bad idea to allow you to do this,” she said heavily. “I was trying to give some...concession...to the pain I know you feel at Antos' passing.” She paused and gave Kira an almost coy look over her shoulder. “Sentimental thinking just leads to trouble, child. You see that now, don't you?”

 

“I don't need a lesson from you in sentiment,” Kira retorted. “We've got to find Garak before the funeral!”

 

“Yes, you do,” Winn agreed, “which makes me wonder what you're doing here at all. Shouldn't you be turning the grounds upside down looking for him?”

 

Her temper was a pressure building in her chest to unbearable levels. The fact that she held it bore testament only to her respect for the woman's position, not for the woman herself. “I felt that you deserved to hear this in person rather than finding it out some other way, and I wanted to give you time to come up with a plan in case we don't find him in time.”

 

The woman smiled and turned back to face her fully. “In truth I had long since stopped expecting such courtesy from you,” she said. “Perhaps our vedek's passing has shown you the importance of coming together in a time of crisis. I certainly hope so, at least, that more good came from his loss than I ever expected. Thank you, Major.”

 

Kira narrowed her eyes. “You don't seem worried at all,” she said. “If I didn't know better, I'd think it possible you had something to do with this.”

 

Almost imperceptibly, the false warmth in Winn's pale green eyes cooled. “It's a good thing that you do know better, given that you're the one who brought this unfortunate problem right to our doorstep,” she said, the hint of sharpness in her mellow alto a clear warning that Kira was treading on very dangerous ground. “I'm appalled that you would even entertain such a thought, given how tirelessly Antos and I worked to forge that treaty. If anything, isn't it far more likely that this Cardassian of yours,” she said in a way that made it sound to Kira as though she were referring to an errant pet, “wasn't happy with what we accomplished and has taken the opportunity to sabotage it? How well do you really know him, Major?” And that question had accusation and something even nastier and more barbed hidden in its honeyed undertone.

 

She saw the verbal trap just before stumbling into it. If she said she barely knew Garak at all, the truth, she would be accused of having been careless in including him in the funeral arrangements. If she tried to feign more familiarity than she had, even if Winn didn't detect the lie, it would beg the question, why was she spending that much time in the company of the enemy? “I don't think he'd do that,” she managed, realizing she had to say something.

 

“Based on what?” Winn pressed.

 

“Odo trusts him,” she answered. It wasn't true at all, of course, but she didn't dare bring Julian into this or reveal his relationship with Garak to Winn. She could tell the woman already strongly disliked the doctor, and the Kai was a dangerous enemy to have. If she could protect Julian from that, she would.

 

“I think you place more trust in the changeling's judgment than you ought sometimes,” Winn said. Kira couldn't be absolutely certain that she had taken her statement at face value, but as it wasn't like her to back down from a verbal advantage when she had it, it was likely. “Keep me abreast of your progress, Major. You have the resources of the monastery at your disposal for this.”

 

Kira nodded tightly and turned to go, recognizing a dismissal when she heard it. She allowed none of her relief that the woman hadn't further pursued the line of questioning to show until she was out of the house and breathing the cool, humid air of nighttime Bajor. As she strode quickly back toward the communal housing complex, she reflected sourly that never in her short life had she thought she would trust any Cardassian more than the Kai of Bajor, but she did. She considered it far less likely that Garak would sabotage the treaty in this way than that Winn somehow had a hand in it and an ulterior motive. It's not that she thought he was noble or selfless, far from it. He simply had more to gain personally from a Bajoran/Cardassian alliance than he did from the dissolution of the same. But what did Winn have to gain?

 

Her eyes narrowed as she gave this hard thought, stepping back up to the double doors and through them into the dimly lit foyer. That was the trouble with Winn. She had a way of keeping your attention on what you could see until it was too late to stop what you couldn't see, her real angle, from happening. She found it ironic and annoying that the one person who might actually have been able to pierce any deviousness on the Kai's part was the very person they were looking for. Never thought I'd say I miss Garak, she thought dryly, but with something like this, he's useful. She wanted to check in with Odo, hoping that his efforts were bearing more fruit.

 

Julian

USS Mekong

Science Lab

 

Sighing, Julian scrubbed his hands down his face and stared in dismay at the veritable mountain of dishes surrounding him in the small lab of the runabout. He had been assured that he was in possession of every dish that had been used at the large dinner. Grimly, he had already begun the painstaking task of scanning each one for traces of...he didn't even know what, something that would explain Garak's falling asleep quickly and not putting up a struggle against whoever had taken him. So far, he was getting nowhere, and with his mounting frustration came mounting worry. The Bajorans had every reason to hate Cardassians. He couldn't deny the brutal realities of the occupation. It gave him much more reason to fear for Garak's safety, for even though sabotage of the treaty might possibly be the goal of the abduction, that didn't mean that whoever did it wouldn't also take sadistic delight in dishing out paybacks. The quicker they could find him, the better chance they had of recovering him intact.

 

The comm chimed, and he set down the mug in his hand to answer it. His blood froze when he saw the face that popped to life on his screen, not Odo or Major Kira as he expected, but Enabran Tain. “Hello, Doctor,” the agent said cheerfully. “I hadn't expected that you and I would see each other again so soon. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?”

 

His heart started thudding so hard in his chest that he thought the man would be able to hear it over the comm, weak Cardassian hearing notwithstanding. “Nothing that can't afford the interruption,” he said carefully. He tried in vain to read anything at all in the bland smile and the deep set dark eyes. He had seen the expression before dozens if not hundreds of times, just on a different face. No wonder Garak could be so inscrutable.

 

“That's excellent to hear,” the elderly Cardassian said. “I would truly hate to tear you away from anything that required your full attention. I have a little problem, and it struck me that you were just the person to help me.”

 

Julian swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. “I'm...flattered,” he said, “that you would think I could be of any use to you, given your vast resources.”

 

Tain chuckled appreciatively. “There's no need for exaggeration, Doctor. My domain isn't what it was, and we both know it. I've misplaced something, and I have a strong suspicion that you may have seen it recently. My resources not withstanding, it's valuable to me. I left it in a very specific place, and I really don't appreciate others coming behind me and moving my things. You wouldn't happen to know where it is, would you?”

 

“Not...specifically,” he said, finding it hard to breathe normally. The intense scrutiny of the Cardassian's gaze pierced straight to his marrow, even with the screen and who knew how much distance separating them. He shuddered to think how it would feel in person, and he didn't want to find out.

 

“So you know what I'm referring to,” Tain said. “Excellent. I hate having to explain myself overly. You have no idea how tiresome that can get. Am I to glean hope from you that you have a general idea, then?”

 

“I think so,” Julian said. “In fact, I'm looking for it, too.”

 

The large Cardassian's look shifted from benign curiosity to reproach. “You told me I wasn't interrupting anything important,” he said, tsking once. “I suggest that you get back to it posthaste, Doctor Bashir, or it won't be just the Bajorans Cardassia holds responsible for this. This is the stuff interstellar incidents are made of.” The transmission cut abruptly.

 

“Oh, God,” he gasped aloud, his thoughts racing as quickly as his heart. So much for keeping this from Commander Sisko. There was no way he could, not with that blatant threat still ringing in his ears. Bracing himself for quite possibly one of the worst ass chewings of his career, he sent a secure transmission directly to Commander Sisko's quarters. He didn't have time for this, but he couldn't ask Odo or Major Kira to do it. It wasn't their problem or their responsibility.

 

Commander Sisko's face appeared, his quarters dark behind him, and his expression sleep muzzy. “Doctor,” he said thickly, “I hope you have a better reason for waking me up than the night you came to me asking for a runabout.”

 

“I'm afraid so,” he said grimly, filling the man in quickly on everything that had happened and ending with that very chilling warning and threat from Tain.

 

All traces of sleep fled from the Commander's face, his expression as thunderous as his question, “Exactly when did you intend to tell me about this, Doctor?”

 

He sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He had no desire to throw Major Kira under a shuttle, so he tried to phrase it diplomatically. “The Bajorans wanted to handle this as an internal affair, and I was trying to respect that, Sir,” he said.

 

“By the Bajorans, you mean Major Kira,” Sisko said, seeing right through it. “Where is she? I want to have a word with her.”

 

“She's still on Bajor, Sir,” he answered, “conducting the investigation. I'll let her know that you want to speak to her as soon as I can. I really need to get back to my part of it,” he added, “unless you need me for something else?”

 

“We haven't finished this discussion, Doctor Bashir,” Sisko said severely, “not by a long shot, but I'm letting you go for now to do what you need to do. From this point forward, I want you to keep me informed every step of the way. If I get contacted by the Cardassian Central Command or the Obsidian Order, I need to have something intelligent to tell them. Understood?”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Julian said respectfully.

 

“Sisko out,” the man growled and cut the transmission.

 

That went about as well as could be expected, he thought direly, knowing that he'd look back on this part of the discussion with nostalgia by the time Sisko was through with him. He couldn't think about that. He had to get back to work on those dishes, but not before one final thing. At the very least, he owed it to Kira to give her a heads up for what was coming her way. He put a call through to the monastery. Vedek Daran answered his hail. “Doctor?” he said, “have you found anything?”

 

“I'm afraid not yet,” he said. “I need to speak to Major Kira at once.”

 

“She's out with some of the vedeks combing the property. I can put you through to Constable Odo, though,” he replied.

 

“Please, do so,” he said tersely, waiting. As soon as Odo's face came up on screen, he said, “Constable, I'm afraid we have a much bigger problem than we realized. I've had to contact Commander Sisko about the situation, because I was just contacted by Enabran Tain. I don't know how he knows, but he does. The Cardassian government is less than pleased, and so is the Commander. He wants to talk to the Major. I tried to deflect him. He'd have none of it.”

 

Odo frowned and shook his head. “Tain,” he said, exasperated. “That puts a different spin on things.”

 

“What do you mean?” Julian asked.

 

“I have some news, too, Doctor, and it isn't good, I'm afraid. Two vedeks are missing, Alith and a man named Bannen. Daran noticed they were absent from the assembly he called, and we haven't been able to find them anywhere. It helped me narrow my search of the records, but that turned out to be less helpful than I had hoped. Both of them are operating under false identities. The forgeries were good ones. Without Daran's cooperation and Major Kira's knowledge of the Bajoran Resistance, I wouldn't have known what I was looking at.”

 

“Who are they?” the doctor asked tightly, more clenched with worry than before, and he hadn't thought that possible.

 

“I don't know yet. I'm still working on that. It seems interesting to me that Tain has gotten word of this so fast. It could indicate Cardassian involvement at some level.”

 

Something he said clicked in Julian's mind, a leap of logic he usually tried to hide from those he worked with, but at the moment, he didn't have the time to play dumb. Garak's life hung in the balance. “Odo,” he said more sharply, “I need you to do me a favor. I need you to put me in touch with Doctor Mora right away.”

 

“Doctor Mora?” Odo exclaimed, taken aback. “Why?”

 

“I don't have time to explain. Just please do this, and ask him to cooperate with me. He might be...reluctant...otherwise,” he said.

 

With narrowed eyes, Odo said, “Stand by. This will take a little time.”

 

Nodding, Julian put that time to good use, taking blood and urine samples from himself, and starting the computer analyzing them. As a list of compounds and chemicals began scrolling on the display screen, the Bajoran doctor who had been responsible for the initial studies of Odo after he was first discovered appeared on his comm screen. The man's normally neatly combed hair was in disarray. He had obviously been roused from a deep sleep. “Doctor Bashir,” he said, covering a yawn, “I hope you'll forgive my appearance. Odo said this is a matter of urgency?”

 

“Yes, and I hope that you'll forgive my intrusion and...presumption. You worked closely with the Cardassians during the occupation, and I'm in need of your expertise.”

 

The Bajoran adopted a warier tone. “I did because I had to, Doctor. I'm not sure what you're implying...”

 

“Believe me, I'm not trying to imply anything untoward,” he said hastily. “It's just that Starfleet has extremely inadequate knowledge of Cardassian physiology, and I am in desperate need of some of that knowledge right now. If I send you a chemical analysis of my own blood and urine, do you think you might be able to spot something that might badly affect a Cardassian but not a human or a Bajoran?”

 

“It's possible,” the doctor said, rubbing at his eyes. “I'd need you to send it to my lab, though, not my home. It's going to take me about twenty minutes to get there. Is that going to be a problem?”

 

“No,” he replied. “It will give me time to obtain a few samples from some Bajorans, too. I'll send all of the results your way as soon as I have them.” The man nodded, giving him a secure code for the transmission and ending the call.

 

Odo reappeared on his screen. “Was there anything else you needed?” he asked.

 

“As a matter of fact, yes. Can you have Daran gather a grouping of people who were at dinner tonight? Let them know that I want to take blood and urine samples, and that this is completely voluntary. I'll be beaming down shortly to come collect the samples.”

 

“Very well,” Odo said. “I'll continue working on these records.”

 

As long as he had something to do, he felt as though he could hold it together. His worry for Garak had to be held at bay, because if he really let himself think about it, he'd be paralyzed with fear and helplessness. Hours had already passed. They were running out of time for their deadline. Did that also mean that Garak was running out of time, period? He didn't know, and that was the worst part of it all, the not knowing. He collected the samples, beamed back to the Mekong, and sent all of his data to Doctor Mora. The search of the dishes themselves was proving absolutely fruitless. The act of washing them in hot, soapy water had destroyed anything that might have told him what he needed, which was why he hoped the biological samples would tell a different tale.

 

After what seemed an interminable wait, Mora contacted him. He could already see from the satisfied gleam in the man's eyes that he had found something of note, and he listened eagerly. “I wish I knew more of what was going on over there,” the doctor said. “I've found what you were looking for. You're lucky you asked me when you did, Doctor. It breaks down rather quickly in the body, and all of you had already begun to metabolize it. It's a mild toxin called afresznia. It's easily broken down both by humans and Bajorans, as well as several other races, but in Cardassians, it produces profound lethargy.”

 

“Does it harm them?” he asked quickly.

 

“No, Doctor. Think of it as a soporific and little more. However, there is no reason it should have been anywhere near what any of you were eating or drinking. The plant from which it is derived is actually very toxic and only grows in a few remote regions of Bajor. I'm sending you a topographical map to show you.”

 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Julian said with deep sincerity. “You've helped me more than you know. If I can ever return the favor, all you have to do is ask.”

 

“I'll keep that in mind,” Mora said in a way that had him slightly worried.

 

He contacted Odo again, sending him the map and telling him what Mora had said of the plant. “I don't know if this will help or not,” he said. “I'm going to be scanning the grounds and the surrounding province with the Mekong's sensor array again. I've made some adjustments to try to compensate for the radiation interference I was getting from the natural rock formations beneath.” He wished in that moment that Dax was there. She knew much more about such things than he.

 

“This does help me,” Odo said. “One of these valleys is in a region I've managed to connect to Alith. I'll get back to you when I have more.”

 

“Don't bother,” Julian said. “If this scan isn't productive, I'm coming back to the planet. I've done all I can do here. Bashir out.”

 

Despite the adjustments, he couldn't get any more definitive answers than he obtained with the first scan. The computer could tell him clearly that there were a multitude of life forms beneath the ship's orbital position, but it couldn't narrow what type they were. Giving up on that, he beamed back down again to rejoin the search in person.

Author notes: This story spans the Deep Space 9 episodes The Abandoned through Life Support. I used a few lines directly from the script of Civil Defense, namely the computer notifications and one brief exchange between Bashir and Garak in Ops. Although I didn't modify the basic plots of any of the shows I included, I did give a pretty different take on Fascination. They played it for comic effect, but at its core, the situations set up in that show were pretty disturbing and would be scary for those involved. Plus, it made no sense to me only principal cast members were affected when Lwaxana was all over the Promenade. This story could still qualify as a stand-alone, but with the weight of back story building up, it makes more sense at least in the context of “The Servant of Your Heart”.
Summary: Julian Bashir and Elim Garak walk the edges of the line in the sand that Garak drew, each believing himself to be right. In a world of ever shifting alliances and increasingly complicated politics, the two discover that a balance of power is almost impossible to maintain.
Author: Dark Sinestra Date Written: December, 2009
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17 for explicit violent sex, mild adult language, intense adult themes, and character death.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the people, places, things, or events from Star Trek Deep Space 9. All remain the property of Paramount, and I receive nothing but gratification in the knowledge that I would've enjoyed my TV show more.
Word Count: 16,519
 

Julian
The Infirmary

The doctor frowned and flinched away as Dax tried to hold him firmly by the chin and take a closer look at his face. “Will you stop squirming, Julian?” she said in frustration. “I'm trying to see if that Jem'Hadar boy cracked your temporal fossa or your zygomatic process when he hit you.” She took a scanner from a nearby nurse and ran it close to his cheek and the side of his eye.
 

“I'm fine,” he said yet again. “And he's not really a boy anymore, is he?”
 

“Not so much, no,” she said grimly. She turned off the scanner and handed it back to the nurse. “Thank you,” she said to her and turned her attention back to him. “You got off lucky, no fractures. You ought to let them treat you for the contusion, though.”
 

It was on the tip of his tongue to protest, but he knew that level look. It would be more trouble than it was worth. “Fine,” he said, beckoning the nurse over to help him. “What I really need is to be able to examine him further and see if I can synthesize that missing enzyme. I'm certain it's contributing to his erratic behavior.”
 

“Probably so. I'm sure Benjamin will want to see us in the wardroom soon. Do you want me to wait for you?”
 

“No,” he said. “You go ahead. I'll catch up.” He didn't know how to tell her that her solicitousness since Garak abruptly broke things off with him wasn't always welcome. He wasn't sure she would listen to him anyway. As things were, the only solitude he managed to carve out for himself was during work, when he could legitimately claim that he didn't need the distractions of others, and late at night, when he desperately did but couldn't bring himself to disrupt his friend's sleep. He sat still while the nurse ran the tissue regenerator over his swollen cheek, feeling the throbbing pain ease.
 

Under normal circumstances, he'd view the chance to observe a growing Jem'Hadar up close as an exciting, once in a lifetime opportunity. To be sure, he was taking copious notes and paying close attention. However, it didn't thrill him. Nothing did. He felt as though he was just going through the motions, and the pain never went far. All he had to do was to look down the Promenade and see Garak's shop or catch a glimpse of him going about his routine, and he was right back to that feeling that he couldn't get enough air and that too much of the light had gone out of his world.
 

He thanked the nurse and followed in the earlier footsteps of Dax toward the wardroom. The meeting went about as he expected it to go. Of course brass wasn't going to want to pass up the opportunity to study one of the enemy's shock troops up close. Kira's overly enthusiastic support of the idea of turning the young being into a lab experiment irked him. He was pleased to have the opportunity to throw in his support with Odo. He remembered very well how it felt to be a laboratory subject, the pain of all the changes he went through during his illegal gene therapy treatments. He wasn't certain if he had his complete memories from that time, but he had enough. As he listened to the Constable's impassioned plea on the young warrior's behalf, he wished that he could let the changeling know just how much they had in common. It would be a relief to be able to talk to someone who understood.
 

Commander Sisko asked to speak to Odo in private, and Julian decided to go check on the boy. It was hard to stop thinking of him in that way, even harder to believe that he had just recently held him in his arms as an infant. When he reached the security office, he found the powerful alien flinging himself against the holding cell shielding, and no amount of explaining on his part would calm him. Only the presence of Odo managed that, so it was fortunate that he joined them shortly and talked him down.
 

It made the doctor burn with anger to think of a race of beings so carefully bred and manipulated. They were nothing more than genetic slaves to the Founders. If he could help this one, he fully intended to. He also knew how it felt to be designed and engineered, to wonder what parts of oneself were genuine and what parts were put there at the request of others. He wondered if he would every truly and fully be able to forgive his parents for that. He didn't think of it often. In facing the Jem'Hadar, he found the issue brought front and center in a way it hadn't been in years.
 

Having such a challenging task set before him as synthesizing the complex enzyme missing from the boy's system kept him blessedly distracted for hours. He was disappointed that Miles and Odo managed to find a hidden cache of it before he succeeded. As it was more important that the boy be given some relief, he discovered that the best way to pass it quickly into his body was through the carotid artery. He kept samples aside for study and research and gave the rest to Odo for safe keeping. The two left the infirmary together.
 

A few hours after that, he heard a hail on the infirmary comm and turned to accept it personally. He had made progress on his analysis of the enzyme and hadn't noticed how much time had passed. He recognized the doctor on the screen as an expert in xenoimmunology whose papers were almost always cropping up in most of the medical journals he kept up with, someone stationed on Starbase 201. He schooled his features to politeness, but he was angry. Starfleet was obviously not willing to let this go. “I see I didn't awaken you, Doctor Bashir,” the older man said. “Good. I wanted to extend the professional courtesy of requesting all of your notes and the results of any experiments you've run on that Jem'Hadar of yours personally. You've been making quite a name for yourself lately.”
 

“Thank you, Doctor Ramirez,” he said, distantly polite. “I've read many of your papers. Your work on the polymerase chain reaction of the J8B5 virus for safer vaccines along the Tzenkethi Border is particularly brilliant. You've likely saved hundreds of lives.”
 

“That's why we do it, isn't it?” he said, obviously flattered. “Having the chance to study this specimen may save hundreds, if not thousands, more. I must say I envy your position there, right at the cusp of the passage to the Gamma Quadrant.”
 

“It's rarely dull,” he replied, impatient with the jocular small talk when a sentient being's life hung in the balance. “I trust you'll treat him well?” he said.
 

The man blinked. “Who? Oh, you mean the specimen? Well, of course, we'll treat it as well as we can, but as you know, we can't always be as non-invasive as we like.”
 

“Of course,” he said, his voice hardening. “Doctor, my apologies, but it's very late here. It will take me some time to collate the data for transmission, as I wasn't expecting to have the situation taken out of my hands this quickly. We told the boy he would be staying here for now.”
 

“Of course,” the man said, completely ignoring the not so subtle rebuke. “I eagerly await your findings, Doctor. Ramirez out.”
 

The transmission ended, and Julian slammed the flat of his hand down on the table beside it. “Damn!” he said.
 

A late shift nurse stuck his head around the corner. “Is everything all right, Doctor?”
 

“No, but we have work to do. Help me get this data sorted,” he said, making room for the nurse. “We'll be sending it off to Starbase 201 in short order.”
 

He left the infirmary very late, affording himself less than four hours of sleep before it was time to get back to work. It wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last time he stretched himself thin. It came with the territory for medical staff. His mood improved somewhat when he heard the next day that the Jem'Hadar had managed to commandeer a runabout and escape and that no one got hurt in the process. Good for you, he thought. Don't ever turn back. You're probably better off with your Founders.

He didn't like feeling this way, disgusted with his superiors and his government, first over the treatment of Garak, now this. It made him wonder if he hadn't made a mistake in joining Starfleet. He could have made a decent career for himself as a civilian doctor and never faced so many ethical challenges. He could have stayed in Paris and never had his heart crushed. In leaving, had he not done the same to his fiancée? He had justified himself by saying that they were too young to have gotten engaged and that he hadn't thought hard enough about how he had his whole life ahead of him. In hindsight, in light of his broken heart, he realized that his decision was selfish, childish, and cruel. How many women had he dallied with, nearly all of them more serious about him than he was them? How many hearts had he broken? Maybe in some way, he deserved to feel the way he did.

He grumbled at himself for entertaining such bleak thoughts. Connecting what Garak had done to anything in his past was illogical. There wasn't some giant scale in the sky, keeping track of words and deeds and bringing down a hammer to equal the balance. The only relevant part of what he had been thinking was that it was irresponsible to make commitments he didn't know if he could keep at the time he made them. If getting hurt this badly prevented him from breaking other hearts in the future, then something positive came of it. It's a pity I'm just not that good at lying to myself, he thought. I don't feel any better at all.

Garak
Garak's Clothiers

On early mornings, the Promenade was now deserted. Garak toyed with the idea of opening his shop later, not that it would matter much. Early, late, he had few customers. He counted himself lucky that even when things were going well financially, he had lived frugally and modestly. He was in no danger of losing his roof over his head or his basic necessities. He knew the Ferengi across the way were much more worried and had far more to lose than he.
 

With Julian out of the picture as his steady lunch companion, he had taken to lunching at times with Rom. It wasn't the same, of course. Rom wasn't much of a reader and knew very little of any alien literature. He did, however, speak at length about his son Nog, his brother, their family life, and the situation at the bar. Garak took a vicarious sort of pleasure in this talk of family. He'd never tell Rom, but there were times he envied him his freedom in having a child and raising him openly. It was a luxury he would never be able to afford, no matter how much money or resources he might accrue.
 

He thought as little of Julian as he could, something he knew that most of the doctor's friends would judge as typical and misconstrue as a lack of care. They were so closed minded. Any Cardassian would understand his reasoning easily. Closed doors wouldn't stay that way if one were constantly opening them and peering at the contents they were meant to shut away. He had good, sound reasons for cutting things off when he did. It was unfortunate that in the process both of them were hurt. They would have been hurt much worse if things continued to progress along the course he saw, and it could have cost the young officer his entire promising career. No matter what the doctor thought in his love blindness, Garak knew that a relationship with him wasn't worth that price. He had nothing that valuable to give to the dear man in return, not even the ability to say, I love you, and mean it without ambivalence.
 

He bustled about and tidied the already immaculate place as he did every morning, lifting his head and straightening when Lieutenant Dax strode through his doors looking like a woman on a mission. He had been expecting this, either from her or one of the others. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “Have you been enjoying your new dress?”
 

“I haven't had the chance to wear it yet,” she confessed. “I haven't been able to do much socializing lately. Have you?”
 

He arched an eye ridge. “My dear Lieutenant, if you look around you, you may notice that we have a...lack...of civilians of late. Alas, I have more than enough time on my hands but few potential companions to choose from.”
 

“I wanted to know if you'd like to have lunch with me today,” she offered.
 

It wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. Now he simply expected that conversation to occur at a later date. “I regret that I have a lunch date already.”
 

She looked surprised. To her credit, she hid it quickly. “Well, how about dinner, then?”
 

“Do we have enough to discuss for a dinner?” he asked her, favoring her with a somewhat pointed look.
 

“We don't have to talk about Julian at all,” she said. “I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. So, are you interested?”
 

“My dear, I'm positively intrigued,” he replied. Perhaps they wouldn't have that expected conversation at all, if she was to be believed.
 

“I'll come by after work to pick you up, then,” she said. “I'd wear the dress, but I don't want to give anyone the wrong impression.”
 

He smiled, delighted at how deftly she made it clear that she had no interest in him without ever really saying such a thing at all. It was unnecessary, the lack of interest mutual; however, he knew that she received more than her fair share of romantic offers. Rebuffing them before they came was probably second nature by now. “No,” he agreed. “We can't have that. I shall see you then?”
 

“Yes,” she said, nodding and leaving for Ops.
 

He worked through the morning, enjoyed his lunch with Rom, and caught up with some reading on a seat behind his counter during the afternoon. As evening approached, he began to think of the coming dinner plans and wonder what Dax might want with him, if not to discuss Julian. The computer's voice coming from his counter console had his head jerking up in surprise, keen gaze flashing to focus on the terminal. “Warning...worker revolt in progress in Ore Processing Unit Five...security countermeasures initiated.”
 

“No,” he said, jumping up from his seat. “What have those fools gotten into now?” Before he could key in a query, Gul Dukat's face popped up on screen to relate a pre-recorded message that he recognized all too well. He sighed deeply and pressed his lips together in irritation. The beginnings of a headache announced themselves behind his eye ridges and along the top of his skull. He had much bigger things to worry about than a migraine, such as the fact that he seemed to have now been shut out of his own computer terminal. “Oh, you pompous windbag,” he growled under his breath. “You think you're so clever!”
 

He immediately left the shop, locking it down and heading toward Security. He reached the office only to find Odo and Quark inside. “Excuse me, Constable,” he said, “but I seem to have been locked out of my computer. I was wondering if perhaps I could use yours?”
 

Odo glanced up at him impatiently. “Not now, Garak,” he grated. “I can't even use it. I don't have high enough clearance.”
 

“I've been telling him I can give him Level Seven,” Quark said, rolling his eyes, “but does he listen to me?”
 

“Be quiet, Quark,” Odo and Garak said at the same time.
 

They glanced sharply at one another. Before Garak could ask for access a second time, the computer's voice said, “Warning. Workers have escaped from Ore Processing Unit Five. Initiating station-wide counterinsurgency program.”
 

“Oh, damn,” Garak said mildly, turning and rushing down the Promenade just in time to avoid the forcefield that sprang to life, sealing Odo and Quark inside. He didn't have time to argue anymore. Perhaps they'd listen to him in Ops. He hoped they would, or things were about to get much more dead than they had been of late. He had a moment of anxiety when he hit the first forcefield in front of the turbolift, but his access code worked. He hurried as fast as he possibly could, having to stop again and again to deactivate more fields. He noticed they sprang back to life as soon as he passed. Dukat's ostentatious voice droned on and on. “He always did love the sound of his own words,” he muttered.
 

When he reached one of the hallway terminals, he tried to shut down the program with his access codes. Nothing happened. He then tried to quick and dirty a few subroutines to no avail. “Of course, it's not going to be that easy,” he said in frustration.
 

By the time he reached Ops, he had heard the threat about the habitat rings being flooded with neurocine gas. Well, Elim, he thought dryly, you always worried you'd die on this station. It may happen much sooner than you anticipated. He saw Major Kira, Dax, Julian, and some personnel he didn't know in Ops behind the forcefield. At least they had managed to pry open the door. They seemed more than a little surprised to see him. No one will ever believe I'm just a tailor now, he thought. Oh, well, better to have the chance to worry about how to get out of that later than die for the perfection of a lie.

Julian
Ops

As ridiculous as it made him feel on one level, Julian was extremely glad to see Garak just then. It didn't make their situation any less grim, and he wasn't certain they'd manage to get out of the trouble they were in alive, but at least if he did die, it would be with someone he loved. He shouldn't have been surprised that the canny Cardassian had a plan. It didn't work out the way any of them expected, instead triggering yet another level of the counterinsurgency measures. Despite the setback, Garak forged ahead with another plan, one endorsed and improved upon by Dax. When he was sure that Dax's burned hands were as all right as they could be under the circumstances, he stood off to the side and watched the tailor trying to forge Gul Dukat's codes in order to shut down the system. He couldn't help but to smile and tease him. It might be the last chance he ever got to do it. He had never been more proud of him than in that moment.
 

Garak inadvertently tripped a failsafe before Dax had a chance with Kira's help to disable internal sensors. The wall replicator sprang to life, and in the flash of an eye, a man was dead. Shocked, the doctor dove for cover and watched the rest of them do the same as energy beams blasted from the now deadly machine. Every move they tried to make earned them more blasts. He narrowly avoided losing an arm trying to reach Major Kira's phaser. He could just see Garak under Dax's console as they all shouted back and forth to one another, doing their best to formulate a plan under fire.

 

My poor Elim, he thought sadly. Every time you try to do the right thing by any of us, things just get worse for you. He knew the tailor wouldn't be in any danger at all had Commander Sisko, Miles, and Jake not been poking around in the deserted guts of the ore refinery. He wished that he could apologize to him on Starfleet's behalf, but now wasn't the time or place for that.

Gul Dukat's sudden appearance, for real this time, in Ops cut off all further thought in that direction. He watched him very closely, not nearly as intimidated in his presence as he had been three years before. He waited for an opening as the Gul spoke to them, and when the arrogant Gul disabled the blaster in the replicator to make himself some tea, he almost had it. Surging to his feet, he had no choice but to dive right back down again, the diabolical lens reappearing as soon as Dukat stepped out of the way. That was too close, he thought.

Dukat approached Garak, and he tensed again. He wouldn't let him hurt him, no matter the cost. He felt his fists ball as the man taunted the tailor. To his horror, Garak seemed to be rising to the bait, swiftly standing from his cover. He couldn't stop himself from crying out, “Garak!”

“Easy, Doctor... it would seem that the computer is only targeting non-Cardassians after all,” Garak said with his eyes locked to Dukat's.
 

He felt his limbs flooded with the weakness of relief. Thank God, he thought. He listened in uneasy fascination to the calmly delivered but hostile exchange between the two. Old friends indeed, he thought dryly, recalling what Dukat had said of Garak the first time he had ever spoken to him. His dislike of the Gul intensified to something more visceral as he openly threatened Garak. He was glad that the tailor refused him the satisfaction of getting a rise, for he knew his ex had a temper underneath his blasé facade.

He slowly stood after Dukat deactivated the blaster and retreated with Major Kira into Commander Sisko's office. “What do you think he wants?” he asked the others in a low voice.

“He obviously wants the station,” Dax said grimly, glancing at Garak. “Do you think this will fly with your government?”

Julian watched Garak's face as he considered his answer. “If he has enough support in the military, it might,” he said. “I wish I could tell you for certain, Lieutenant, but I'm no longer familiar enough with the political climate on Cardassia to provide an educated opinion.”

He wanted so badly to have a moment alone with the tailor. Their eyes met briefly, and it hurt him to see cool assessment instead of any warmth. It was Elim in the infirmary all over again, vulnerable and yet stubbornly refusing to yield a centimeter. He was angry with himself for expecting anything different and dropped the eye contact first.

“Garak,” Dax said, “since it's looking like we might not have that dinner date after all, I want to tell you the main thrust of what I had to say to you. I'm only sorry I'll have to be much briefer than I intended.”

Julian looked between the two of them, irrational hurt flaring and then subsiding again. Of course it wasn't a date date. Dax would never do that to him. If she had, she certainly wouldn't be bringing it up in front of him now. “I can't give you any real privacy, but if I step to the far wall and you speak quietly, I won't hear you,” he offered.

“No, Julian, it's all right,” she said. “I don't mind if you hear this.” She shot a questioning look at Garak to see if he did.

“I'm fine with that, Lieutenant,” he said.

“Good. I wanted to thank you for helping us save Nerys,” she said.

“It's not as though I had a choice,” Garak responded, a touch of steel beneath his polite tone.

“I meant before that,” she said, unphased. “When you did.”

The doctor felt a surge of gratitude for the Trill that he tried to convey with his eyes alone. He didn't want to butt in, and he wanted Garak to have a chance to respond. It meant more to him that she would make that gesture than he could express. The fact that she had intended to do it in private made it mean that much more, for he knew that it truly was for Garak and not for him that she said it.

Garak waited a few beats to respond. “My only regret is that I won't have the chance to see how you intended to stretch that out for the length of an entire meal,” he said with an incline of his head.

Both doctor and science officer chuckled, their levity fading quickly when yet another announcement came from the computer regarding Dukat's cowardly attempt to escape the station and his failure to maintain order. As the self destruct sequence was announced, only Garak laughed. It had a very dry, ironic sound to Julian's ears.

“I don't see what's so funny,” Dax murmured.

Garak simply indicated Kira and Dukat coming out of the Commander's office with a tip of his chin. Dukat's expression was thunderous. Despite the desperation of the situation, Julian felt tempted to laugh as well. There was nothing quite so gratifying as seeing a blow hard hoisted upon his own petard.

They all gathered around Dukat at the central table and watched him try to disable the security measures. Garak laughed again at the man's failure, and Julian found himself privately grateful that their breakup hadn't been acrimonious. He had no doubt that otherwise, he might have found himself on the receiving end of the tailor's extraordinarily pointed barbs. It seemed that for those who earned his true dislike, his malice knew no limits. As entertaining as it was to see Dukat repeatedly put in his place, particularly when it came to his misguided hitting on Major Kira, it wasn't helping matters. He finally spoke up and told Garak such, hoping that he'd direct his attention back to finding a way out of the deadly situation.

In the end, it was Dax and Dukat who came up with their best chance for success. Unfortunately, it relied on the Commander and Miles being able to reach a critical area of the station and disable the laser fusion initiator to prevent an overload of the main reactor core. They all waited together in tense silence with less than ten minutes left to discover their fates, life, or a quick, fiery death that would leave them nothing more than vaporized particles adrift in space.

Julian positioned himself in front of Garak and drew in a breath, determined to tell him how much he meant to him and that he didn't hold it against him for the decision he made. The tailor cut him a very sharp warning look and flicked his glance quickly to the side to indicate Dukat not so very far away. It was too late. Dukat had already noticed that he was about to speak to Garak, and his pale blue eyes were focused on Julian with intense interest. “It may be bad timing,” the doctor said, “but I was just wondering if you ever managed to hem those pants I brought to you last week.”

“I can't believe you,” Kira said. “We could be space dust any minute, and you're worried about a pair of pants?”

“They're very nice pants, Major,” Garak said mildly. “As a matter of fact, they're ready to be picked up. I intended to tell you this evening, Doctor, but I got a little distracted.”

Dukat looked away from all of them in disgust, and Julian took the opportunity to offer Garak a very small smile. Affection surged in his breast as he realized that even now, Garak was behaving and thinking as though they would survive the situation. For as much as the Cardassian liked to claim that he was a cynic and a pessimist, he kept Julian from revealing a potential weakness in front of a dangerous enemy in case they all lived to face another day. Garak didn't return the smile, but Julian noticed a slight softening of his gaze. It was enough.

“Let's get people moving,” Dax said. “We might have time to get at least some of the people off the station before it blows.”

There was no more time for good-byes. They all got to work, doing what they could. After a few minutes more, it became clear that the crisis had been averted. Dukat beamed away before any of them could stop him. They had worse problems to deal with, such as the fact that life support had been destroyed, and they had but twelve hours to get it back online and operational. Julian retreated to the infirmary, expecting and receiving several cases of people who had been overwhelmed with panic. There were even a few heart attacks during and after the crisis. He had no idea where Garak went or what he had done after they parted company in Ops, but he knew he'd see him again. Perhaps he'd be willing to talk then without Dukat in the way.

Garak
Private Quarters

He hated those pills Julian gave him for his migraines, as they affected him strangely and usually made him have nightmares. The pain was too great this time to combat with kanar alone. The strain of the past several hours combined with having to endure Dukat's company in close quarters insured a headache to rival all headaches. As soon as he had managed to reach his quarters, no easy task without the turbolifts functioning, he took a handful of the wretched things, killed the lights, and lay down on his couch with a cool, wet cloth draped over his forehead and eyes.
 

He was starting to drift into nightmare, the faces of many of his former victims floating into his view like dead, bloated things on the surface of dark water, when his door chime dragged him back to the waking world. He sat up, disoriented and still in pain. The almost dry cloth fluttered from his face and startled him when it landed on his hands. “Computer,” he said thickly, “lights, ten percent, and who is at the blasted door?”
 

“Rephrase the question,” the computer said as dim light flooded his sitting room.
 

They could program it to do so many things, and yet recognizing slang seemed beyond it. “Who is at my door?” he asked, exasperated.
 

“Major Kira Nerys.”
 

He quirked an eye ridge and immediately regretted it. Steeling himself for whatever was about to happen, he wished his phaser wasn't all the way in his bedroom. “Enter,” he said quietly.
 

The door slid open, and Kira stood beyond the threshold. She seemed reluctant to step into the dim room, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. Tucking her head down slightly, she pressed her lips thin and stepped across the threshold. Her shoulders twitched when the door shut behind her. “Why is it so dark in here?” she demanded.
 

“Major,” Garak said, wincing, “please, keep your voice down. I...have a headache.” He didn't like to admit even that much weakness to her. If he didn't, he knew that she would continue barking things at him, and her voice would pierce straight to the center of his brain.
 

“Oh,” she said, blessedly more quietly. “I'm...sorry to bother you.” She stood just before his door, looking awkward and uncertain.
 

He wondered if he should wait her out or just ask what she wanted. She was so volatile, it was hard to judge moment to moment the best way to handle her. Pain was very much a factor in his asking, “Is there something I can do for you, Major? You'll have to forgive me for my limited hospitality at the moment. I was asleep.”
 

“Maybe I should come back another time,” she said, sounding relieved.
 

That relief changed things. His eyes narrowed very slightly. “No, not at all,” he said more brightly, forcing himself to sit up straighter. He gestured her over to the chair opposite his sofa. “You came all this way with the turbolifts offline. It must be important.”
 

“I prefer to stand,” she said. She made some concession to him, however, by stepping closer so that she could speak more quietly. “I...wanted to...thank you,” she said, speaking with difficulty, “for getting Dukat to back off. I...you know, I wasn't even aware that he was...” she paused and shuddered, “that he was hitting on me until you said something and he reacted the way he did.”
 

Garak inclined his head, surprised that she was thanking him, but even more surprised that she hadn't been aware of what was so blatant that it was offensive to him. “You were a bit distracted,” he said.
 

She snorted softly. “Still...was he really? Isn't it just as likely he was trying to goad me? He's such a complete ass, it wouldn't surprise me.”
 

“With all due respect, Major, perhaps you don't read Cardassians as well as you think you do,” he said. “I can assure you that he was very aggressively trying to impress you to a degree that I felt was unhealthy, particularly in light of his family situation.”
 

She scowled. “That's so disgusting. Why? Why me of all people?”
 

He had several theories, none of which he was inclined to share with her. No matter how much he hated Dukat, he was not going to give a Bajoran insight into the Cardassian psyche willingly. “That's something I'm afraid I can't answer,” he said. “You'd have to ask Dukat, not that I recommend it.”
 

“I think I'll pass on that,” she agreed. “Why did you tell Julian about my abduction?” she asked abruptly.
 

He graced her with an ironic half smile. “Are you going to believe anything I say in answer to that?”
 

She pressed her lips together again. “Probably not,” she replied.
 

“Then I'll just let you draw your own conclusions,” he said tiredly. “It takes less energy, and it's what you'll do anyway.”
 

She regarded him in silence, her black eyes reflecting the low light in twin gleams like the surface of a mirror. “I am grateful,” she said at last, “but it doesn't change anything. I think you're a snake who'd sell all of us out the first chance you got.”
 

“It's always good to know where one stands,” he answered, not that he needed her to tell him any of that. He knew it all too well.
 

She folded her arms. “Do you know how many Bajorans died during the occupation, Garak?”
 

“If you want to know the truth of it, I never gave it much thought,” he said in an offhand way. He wanted her to leave now, and he knew that goading her would be the quickest way to get his way.
 

“Why does that not surprise me?” she asked. “Ten million. Ten million men, women, and children who never did anything to your people to deserve what you did to them, to us. I don't know what your role was in the occupation, but I promise you if I ever find out that you were responsible for even one of those ten million, I'll do everything in my power to see that you pay for it.”
 

He didn't want to think about it, and his mind rejected the figure outright. What did she expect him to do about it? What did she expect any Cardassian who had a hand in that to do? Did she honestly think the state had any more compassion for disobedient servants than it did for those it occupied? He knew from first hand experience, being one of the tools for discovering dissidents, that it did not, and she should have known after seeing the recording by Kell regarding Dukat's supposed cowardice in trying to abandon the station during the “revolt”. He felt a flare of anger for this woman whose life he had saved at great personal risk having the temerity to come into his quarters and harangue him about something over which he had no control. “If you ever do find such a thing,” he said lightly, “I'll be happy to indulge you then. Until then, as far as I'm concerned, the subject is closed.”
 

“You're as arrogant as Dukat,” she spat, clenching her fists.
 

“No, dear Major,” he said. “Dukat merely thinks he is the best at what he does. I know I am. That's not arrogance. It's confidence. Was there anything else you needed? Your uniform let out a bit, perhaps?” The glare she shot him was hot enough to melt latinum. Without another word, she whirled on her heel and stalked from his room. All in all, he had handled that somewhat more ham fisted than was his wont, but she did catch him at a bad time. The things that came out of his mouth during his migraines sometimes surprised even him.
 

After re-wetting his cloth, he resettled on his couch, the bedroom too daunting a trek in his state. “Computer,” he said, “lights out, and disable door chime. I don't want to be disturbed again tonight unless the station is in danger.” The nightmares returned in force, but he slept so deeply that by the time he awoke close to lunchtime, he remembered nothing more than vague, disturbing impressions that seemed connected to things that Major Kira had said. Why had he ever let her in his quarters to begin with? He knew it could only end badly. Live and learn, Elim, he thought dryly. Live and learn.

Author notes: This story spans the Deep Space 9 episodes The Search, Part I through Second Skin. I made some slight changes to the opening scene of Equilibrium to include our favorite tailor in the continuity, but for the most part, as before, I wrote around the episodes to avoid redundancy. The story works as a standalone, but it's also a continuation of what started in “Slow Burn” and continued in “He's No Romeo”.
Summary: As the threat of the Dominion looms large over the station, Doctor Julian Bashir and tailor and spy Elim Garak must make some tough decisions regarding love, loyalty, and the meaning of duty. Each will be forced to sacrifice, but in the end, is the price too high?
Author: Dark Sinestra
Date Written: December, 2009
Category: Slash
Rating: R for some implied scenes of sex, mild adult language and intense adult themes.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these lovely characters, episode plots, or settings from Star Trek Deep Space 9. All remain the property of Paramount, and I receive nothing but satisfaction in playing God.
Word Count: 12,238

Garak
Julian's Private Quarters
2371

The heap of blankets covering Julian's bed stirred slightly. Garak was now awake, that transitional moment for him always nearly instantaneous. His Cardassian eyes had no trouble penetrating the deep gloom. With minimal shifting, he managed to encourage his still slumbering lover into his embrace, Julian's head in the hollow of shoulder and chest, a bare arm and leg snaking over Garak's torso and thighs. Stroking his fingertips delicately over Julian's shoulder and down the length of his exposed back, he coaxed the man to wakefulness. He still marveled at how the doctor awoke in increments, as though parts of his brain came to awareness more quickly than other parts, one of their many differences that secretly delighted him. He looked down into upturned brown eyes, aware that to Julian's perception, his face was currently little more than shadow.

“Mnh,” the doctor protested, his arm tightening in its hold. “Is it really morning already?”

“I'm afraid so,” Garak said, tipping his chin until the man's wavy hair tickled his lips. “What time are they expecting you to report to the docking ring?” he asked.

“0700 sharp,” came the glum reply. “I wish they'd allow you to come along.”

Garak allowed himself a small smile and pressed it to the top of Julian's head. “I'm just as glad they haven't considered it. They'd simply try to put me to work, and before long I'd feel in over my head and completely useless. What place does a tailor have aboard a warship?”

Julian's snorted laughter tickled his scales and pectoral ridge. “You never tire of that game, do you?” he asked, lifting his head and inadvertently letting cold air under their warm cocoon of blankets.

Making a soft sound of protest, the tailor reached up and sealed the breach. “No more than you,” he said. “I'd love to be able to tell you that I awoke in time for us to have a more proper send off for you, but I'm afraid I didn't. If you want to be on time, you're going to have to hurry.”

“Well, then,” the doctor said, bending to nibble along the ridge conveniently in reach, “you will simply have to use some of the down time you'll have while I'm away concocting a plan to make it up to me.”

“After last night, I'm surprised you can say that to me with a straight face,” he replied drolly.

“After last night, I'll be surprised if I can do anything straight for some time,” Julian said smartly. “Nonetheless, I expect you won't disappoint.” He leaned up and kissed Garak soundly then slid from the bed, disturbing the blankets as little as possible.

Garak appreciated the consideration, even more when Julian called the lights up at just fifteen percent. It was still bright to his dark adjusted eyes, but at least it didn't stab into his skull like the tip of a dirk. He watched with unabashed enjoyment while the well built, slender man moved naked about the room, gathering all of his fallen clothing and passing it to him under the blankets. “You really expect me to dress without showering?” he asked.

Julian's lips pursed with amusement. “You're such a bundle of contradictions. You clearly have no issue with getting messy, and you don't insist on jumping right into the shower after even our most strenuous exertions, but you won't put your clothes on without a shower?”

Reluctantly, Garak sat up to face the chill of the room. “If you spent as much time making your clothing as I've spent on mine, it would make perfect sense to you, Doctor,” he said primly. “Besides, I was thinking we could shower together.”

“Since you put it that way...”

They spent the rest of their brief time left together performing what Garak privately thought of as the dance of polite lies, with Julian assuring him that he had no reason to worry for his safety and Garak in turn giving assurances that worry was the farthest thing from his mind. He had a backlog of work to keep him busy, and he knew that they wouldn't be gone overly long. He had every confidence that they would succeed in whatever it was they were endeavoring to do. Julian, of course, regretted that he couldn't just come out and tell Garak what that was, but it was a matter of Starfleet security. Surely he understood. Of course he did, and he'd never put Julian in such an awkward position as to ask!

He had learned over time that the best way to handle any sort of leave taking with the younger human was to keep it simple and light, the proverbial difference between the cut of a scalpel and that of a saw. As soon as he left his lover's quarters, he dropped all pretense of levity. The truth was that the growing threat of invasion had him deeply concerned, and much of that concern centered around his own safety. The others, if necessary, could flee Deep Space Nine and be reasonably assured that at least for some time, they would be safe again. Garak had no such assurances. If he went anywhere but exactly where he was supposed to be, an entire fleet of Federation warships wouldn't prevent the lone assassin in the dark that he knew would find him.

The Promenade was more deserted than he had seen it since the end of the occupation. While he did have a backlog of some work, he wondered if the customers would even be around to pick up their finished products when all was said and done. He couldn't blame any of them, not the Bajorans retreating back to Bajor, nor the other aliens who were booking passage away on any available transports that they could. He would have already done the same if the option were available to him with the promise to write Julian when he was settled. He was not one for heroics and last stands. While they might make entertaining reading for some whose lives lacked sufficient stimulation and excitement, for him heroics was just a synonym for stupidity, and last stands were for those who lacked the wit to escape a situation before they found their backs to the wall.

He worked on his backlog for most of the day. Only when he was sure that the Defiant had departed the station for the Gamma Quadrant with most of the senior Starfleet staff and some of the Bajoran staff aboard did he risk sending a coded transmission to his clandestine contact on Cardassia. He never received anything more than an acknowledgment of his transmissions for his trouble, and sometimes he didn't even receive that. Still, it made him feel useful in a small way to know that despite his exile, he did his part in service to the state. Who better to know the developing situation with the mysterious Dominion than someone close to the front lines?

If his dear Julian knew just how much he gleaned from their seemingly innocent conversations, he would probably never speak to Garak again out of fear of revealing more. Garak didn't have to ask questions or hear anything specific to read between the lines. He sighed softly, reflecting that in his life he had experienced few things worse than the knowledge that he was a well made, finely honed tool crafted for a purpose he was now denied. Tain and the others were being short sighted not using a resource they had cultivated so carefully and for so long, and Cardassia could well suffer for it. You can keep me from my contacts and resources, but you'll never keep me from doing what I know I do best, he thought.

Feeling bolstered after sending his report on the status of Starfleet's intentions with the Dominion, he closed up shop for the day and decided to take a brief detour into Quark's. To his understanding, Quark was included on the Defiant's journey because of Ferengi business dealings. In a small way, it rankled the professional in him. Of course, he had worked hard to cultivate the image that he was nothing more than a tailor. He knew they didn't believe him, but he also knew they had no idea just how useful he could be and that they saw any potential benefit in trying to find out far outweighed by the detriment of his loyalties.

It took him a second or two to realize what felt out of place in the bar. Morn was nowhere to be seen. For that matter, aside from a smattering of tense looking employees, neither was anyone else. He strolled to the bar and took a seat opposite a very disconsolate looking Rom. “Hi, Garak,” Rom said. “Wh-what can I get for you?”

“I'll have a glass of kanar,” he said. “I see my business isn't the only one with a dearth of customers today.”

“Today, tomorrow, probably forever,” the Ferengi said glumly. He set Garak's glass before him and glanced around the empty space behind him. “It's not fair.”

Garak pulled his glass closer and lifted it for a sip. “Fair?” he asked.

Rom nodded, his mouth setting in a bitter line. “All this time I've waited and worked in my brother's bar, hoping that some day it would be mine. Now, even if it happens, it'll just be a place run over by the Dominion!”

“Maybe it's time to come up with a new plan,” Garak said mildly. He genuinely liked Rom. The Ferengi had always been kind to him and deserved better than Quark for a brother and ambitions so curtailed by a lack of confidence.

“Like what?” he asked skeptically.

Garak peered at him a moment before answering, “I have every confidence that you'll figure it out,” and downing the rest of his kanar in a swallow. He set payment to the bar top.

“Y-you do?” Rom asked, eying him mistrustfully, as though he expected a hidden barb.

“I do,” he said, nodding and not elaborating. No amount of unsolicited advice was going to drag the man out of his self-imposed holding pattern. It was quite possible that this Dominion threat could be one of the best things that ever happened to Rom, he believed. As he had personally experienced, there was nothing like the prospect of losing one's entire accustomed way of life to inspire creative thinking.

Rom smiled hesitantly. “Thank you, Garak,” he said.

He inclined his head graciously and returned the smile. “I should be on my way. If things get too quiet tomorrow, come by the shop for a bit. My replicator is on its last legs, but I believe it can manage some tea.”

“I'll do that,” Rom said eagerly. “Maybe I can do something about the replicator, too.”

“That would be very kind of you,” he replied, having his doubts. “Good evening.”

Rom came by early the next day, bearing a small toolkit and asking Garak to direct him to the replicator. He guided him into his stock room and showed him the ailing device. “I've had a request in for some time now for someone to come have a look at it,” he said, “but I'm not high on the priority list, I'm afraid.” Quite the opposite he knew, if Chief O'Brien still felt the same level of hostility toward him as he had displayed in their last encounter.

“We have the same problem at the bar,” Rom told him, kneeling down and removing the panel covering all of the device's inner workings. “My brother says it's because Odo doesn't like him. I think it's Starfleet. They're just like that, thinking they're better than everybody else when they're just the same. Worse, even, because they try to pretend they're not.” He disconnected the power source and got to work.

As Garak watched the work in progress, he found himself startled by two things, the first being that Rom actually seemed to know what he was doing with that toolkit of his and the second that while he was working, he lost his tendency to stammer and hesitate. Not only that, his observation about Starfleet was pointedly accurate. “I try to tell the doctor the same thing all the time,” he said.

“He's nicer than most of them,” Rom said, digging in further and twisting his head to have a look at some of the wiring, “but he's still one of them.”

“That he is,” the Cardassian agreed. “Tell me, does Quark know you're this talented with machinery?”

“No,” the Ferengi replied. “He doesn't have any idea how often things break down in the bar. I just fix them when he's not there.”

“Why don't you tell him?” Garak asked, intrigued at this glimpse into a family dynamic he had never understood very well.

“Because then he'd expect it of me,” he answered, pulling out some wires with degraded insulation. “You're lucky I found these,” he said, reaching up to hand them to Garak. “With all this cloth back here, you could've had a bad fire.”

Garak dutifully took the wiring and gave it his attention. “Yes, it is fortunate you found that,” he agreed, but he was determined not to be deterred from his original line of questioning. With everyone of interest to him on the other side of the wormhole, he craved distraction. “Would it be so bad if he had higher expectations of you?” he asked.

Rom shot him an incredulous look. “He already expects too much, and there's barely enough time in the day to do what he asks. If he expected me to fix everything, too, I'd never have any time to myself.”

“But you fix everything anyway,” he pointed out.

“On my schedule, not Quark's.” He stood then and brushed at his hands. “You've got some burnt out components in there. I have a collection of spare parts at the bar. I'm going to go see if I have what you need. I'll be right back.”

Garak watched him hurry away with that odd, crabbed gait of his, bemused. There was much more to the Ferengi than met the eye. It was a shame he was wasting himself in that bar. It was also a shame he had never bothered before now to talk in depth to the man. He decided that he would carve out a little more time in his schedule for such socializing. Who knew what sorts of things he could learn from unguarded moments?

Rom returned with a tray loaded with various parts. Garak raised an eye ridge. “That much needs replacing?” he asked.

Rom shook his head. “No, but I don't know how many of these are in working order. I scavenge stuff the engineers throw out before it gets taken off for incineration. They're really wasteful sometimes. Just because one component doesn't work, they chuck it out when they could rebuild it instead.” He knelt back in place and began testing the parts.

Garak found himself smiling slightly. He could respect the ethic of frugality. How often had he made it out of a situation simply because he wasn't quick to part with his resources? He knew enough about what Rom was doing to realize that not only was he competent, he was good, really good. He worked with a surety of purpose that no mere tinkerer would possess. After less time than it would have taken Garak working on the same problem with limited resources, Rom had the replicator turning out a decent spice pudding in addition to red leaf tea. “Is that better than it was?” he asked Garak.

“Far better,” Garak replied. “I feel as though I should pay you for this.”

“I did it as a favor,” the Ferengi said, looking somewhat put out at the offer.

Truly, he was full of surprises. Garak inclined his head respectfully. “Then you have my thanks. At least stay for tea and pudding.” Rom beamed and nodded, and the two of them managed to make a pleasant time of it together.

Isolation and idleness had always been challenges for the tailor. He spent much of his time writing in his journal when he wasn't working and staring out his star port when he wasn't writing. Being the one left behind was always more difficult than being the one in the thick of things, he thought. He had new appreciation for all of the patient Cardassian wives whose husbands were married more to their careers than their spouses and thought it a shame that most of those career military men had such little respect or even understanding of just what price their families paid. Were the results worth it? He found himself wondering. Come back safely to me, became a familiar refrain for his solitude.

Julian
USS Defiant
Gamma Quadrant, heading Alpha Quadrant

After the third hail to his cramped quarters, Julian relented. “Enter,” he said.

Dax stepped through the door and waited for it to slide shut behind her. She graced him with an understanding look. “I thought you might want to talk,” she offered.

He nodded, and she took the seat opposite him. It took him some time to formulate what was running through his mind into coherence. The knowledge that his experience of watching Garak shot to death by a Jem'Hadar right before his eyes was just a simulation wasn't much comfort at all. He feared that he would discover that something terrible had happened for real when they got back. If it hadn't, there were still some extremely disturbing implications to the scenario that filled him with nothing less than cold dread. “I know I didn't act like it,” he said, “but the moment Garak went down, I was lost.” He couldn't meet her gaze.

“I'm sure you were,” she said, leaning forward and covering his hand with hers. “But you stayed focused, and you did what you had to do. He'd expect nothing less of you.”

“I know,” he said, nodding and glad of the touch. He was shaken to his core. “The thing that really disturbs me is that most of us in that scenario were hooked in somehow. That Vorta had us linked so that our respective actions were what we'd really do in that situation.” He lifted his gaze to hers and held it. “The real Garak wasn't there, and yet I couldn't tell the difference.”

“You can't blame yourself for that,” she said. “Things were so tense...”

“No, Jadzia, you don't understand,” he interrupted her. “That's just it. There was no way for me to tell, which means that someone has been watching Garak very closely long enough to peg his mannerisms to a 't'. Not just to have his mannerisms down, but to extrapolate his most likely course of action. The Dominion is not only aware of Garak, it clearly views him as a threat.”

She inhaled slowly and sat back, now looking as concerned as he felt. “I see your point,” she said. “Garak isn't the only one they were able to simulate well enough to fool us. Benjamin found the Admiral quite believable, even if he was frustrated with her decisions. And I was completely taken in by their version of Eddington.”

“I'm frustrated. According to Starfleet protocol, I can't tell Garak anything about what we experienced here. I can't warn him of the danger he's in,” he said, feeling the unusual urge to hit something.

Dax smiled slightly. “I truly don't think you have to worry about that as much as you think you do. Garak is one of the wariest, most mistrustful people I've ever seen, not just in this lifetime, but in all my lifetimes. He may not be specifically aware that he's in the Dominion's sights, but you can believe he's not going to be taken by surprise. I think the rest of us are in worse danger than he is.”

“You're so comforting,” he said dryly.

“I have my moments,” she said with an impish quirk of her lips. “You really love him, don't you?”

“Beyond reason,” he said with a sigh.

“Why?” she asked, tipping her head. He started to bristle, but she held up her hands. “I'm not asking that to slight him. I just want to understand.”

“Sorry for being defensive,” he murmured, “but I hear enough versions of 'he's evil and can't be trusted' from Miles and even Major Kira. I know he can't be trusted in the way that most of us consider decent or right, but if you know him well enough, you can have a pretty good idea of what he will and won't do. He wasn't raised with Starfleet ethics, and it's not fair to expect him to have them.”

“I don't disagree with you,” she said reasonably. “I feel the same way about the Klingons, but that's not what I asked you.”

“Why does anyone fall in love, Dax? What is it that connects heart to heart? If I had the answer to that, I could retire from Starfleet a wealthy and famous man and solve a lot of problems before they ever even started. He...tries my patience to within a centimeter of my self-control. Half the time, no, over half the time he argues just for the sake of arguing, has exacting expectations, can be insufferably arrogant and condescending, moody, and downright curmudgeonly. He's cynical, sarcastic, and the most stubborn man I've ever met in my life.”

Dax laughed and fanned herself. “Be still my heart. With a list like that, who could possibly resist him?”

He snorted a soft laugh. “I know. To hear me talk, he's awful, but it's what's beneath all of that that takes my breath away. Just when I think he won't understand something that's really important to me, he grasps it better than people who have known me far longer. While he chides me for not being careful enough and criticizes me for being too trusting, when I do get hurt, his patience and compassion are bottomless. He has seen me at my worst and never flinched away, and he has cared for me as conscientiously as I would a fragile patient. He...doesn't let me get away with not expecting the most from myself, and he keeps my ego in check better than anyone I've ever known. What's not to love about that?”

Her smile softened. “Thank you, Julian,” she said.

“For what?” he asked, confused.

“Helping me to understand. Garak isn't the only one who worries about you, you know. I think after this conversation, at least where you and he are concerned, I'll worry a lot less. Do you want me to stay a while?”

“No, that's all right,” he said, standing and offering her a hand up. “If you really want to stop worrying, get to know him. I think you might be pleasantly surprised.”

She walked with him the short distance to the door and paused. “We'll see,” she said. “He makes me uncomfortable. I do believe he cares for you in his own way. He doesn't have that same sentiment when it comes to the rest of us.”

“He never will if you don't give him a chance,” he countered.

She smiled faintly and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I will consider it,” she said, “but I can't make any promises. Good night, Julian. Try to get some sleep.”

He tried to follow her advice to no avail. As the Defiant continued on its homeward course for the wormhole and Deep Space Nine, he realized he wouldn't truly be able to relax until he saw Garak with his own two eyes, assuming he wasn't still involved in some sort of mind game simulation. And I accuse Garak of paranoia, he thought ironically.

Garak
Garak's Clothiers

Garak was putting the finishing touches on a new rack display when he heard rushed footsteps closing behind him. Whirling to face whoever it was, he barely had time to say, “Ah, my dear, you're back,” before being clenched in an embrace that would've been uncomfortable to anyone with less solid bone structure. He returned the embrace with a bit more care, somewhat taken aback at how fervent the doctor was in his affections. “It has hardly been that long,” he said, amused and trying to pull back. Julian wouldn't allow it. His amusement faded. “Tell me,” he said. “What is it?”

“I can't tell you,” the man replied, his voice muffled against Garak's shoulder. “I just...I need you. Right now.”

“But the shop,” Garak protested.

“Has no customers,” Julian said gruffly.

Baffled, Garak nonetheless obliged. “Computer, close and lock doors,” he said. “At least let me take you to the back. I don't think the few people on the Promenade would appreciate a floor show.”

The doctor released him only to seize his hand and tug him toward the stock room. He was too confused by the uncharacteristic behavior to feel aroused. More than anything, he was worried. He followed in his wake and just for good measure closed the door to the stock room, too. “I'd be much more cooperative if I knew what this was about,” he said.

“It's about this,” Julian replied, kissing him crushingly. “And this,” he murmured against Garak's mouth, reaching down between them to stroke the tailor through his trousers. Garak realized he'd get no real answers as long as his lover was in the throes of whatever strong drive pushed him to such reckless abandon. His body responded well before his mind decided to back its decision wholeheartedly. The doctor took him quickly and roughly in a storm of passion that ended for both of them in record time.

As Garak lay panting on the floor and staring up at the artificial light strip, again he wondered what that had been about. “You do realize you're going to have to tell me something,” he said a bit crossly, turning his head to look at the man sprawled partially naked at his side.

“I don't ever want to lose you,” the doctor replied cryptically and laced his fingers in his to squeeze.

He didn't know what to say to that, but it filled him with trepidation. Whatever had happened on that mission to the Gamma Quadrant, it couldn't have been good. “How very morbid of you,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his undershirt and tunic, both crumpled together on the floor nearby. It was too cold for him to want to lie about for long in a state of partial undress. As much as he hated putting clean clothing over a soiled body, he hated the thought of traipsing half naked back to his quarters far worse.

“I wish I could tell you,” he said earnestly, also sitting up and starting to comport his uniform.

Garak watched his face as he spoke. He saw the minute pinching together of the brows, the drawing in of the lower lip. Whatever had happened pained the doctor much more than his regret at not being able to share it. He couldn't tell how it had anything to do with him, but perhaps he'd understand more in time. “We've been through that before,” he said gently. “You know I don't expect you to compromise your job on my behalf. Surely you can understand, however, how barging into the shop and ravaging me to within an inch of my life during work hours is troubling?”

“Ingrate,” the doctor said, his lips curving into a sly smile that Garak could tell was mostly feigned.

“No, my dear,” he said, leaning to kiss him lightly before climbing to his feet. “Never that. Everyone else made it back in one piece?” he asked carefully.

“Yes,” he answered and stood up beside Garak. “We're all unharmed. I appreciate that you asked.”

“I know they're important to you,” he said. “In that context, how could I not care? As much as I missed you, I really don't want to set a precedent of closing the shop at odd hours of the day. With business as sparse as it is, I need all the hours here I can manage. Can we continue this conversation when I get off work?”

For some reason, that seemed to amuse the doctor. He gave Garak a final tight squeeze, a very naughty grope, and kissed him with such tender emotion that it stole his breath all over again. “Yes,” he said. “We certainly can. For what it's worth, I missed you, too.”

“It's worth quite a bit,” Garak assured him, opening the stock room door and allowing him to precede him out.

Over the next few days, he believed that he was able to piece together at least part of the puzzle. A conversation with Quark helped a little bit. He was disappointed to discover that the Ferengi had not been present with the rest of them for some of the trip. It didn't stop the bar owner from having his own theories. In particular, what he said of Odo's behavior on the return trip was of keen interest to Garak. It felt strange to be taken deeper into Quark's confidences and to share at least a bit of information with him in return. Common enemies make strange bedfellows, he thought.

Strangest of all so far was Julian's sudden announcement one evening that he and Garak had been invited to dinner by Commander Sisko. Garak took one look at his excited expression and knew that no amount of squirming and begging off would spare him from attending. Resigned, he told the doctor to accept for them and braced himself for an evening of supreme discomfort. Hearing who else would be there just made it worse.

He took off a bit early the afternoon of the engagement to give himself plenty of time to prepare, physically and mentally. It was important to him to look his best, as a good suit went a long way toward making him feel more confident. He also drank a single glass of kanar to take the edge off. It truly didn't matter to him what any of the people attending thought of him. It was what his presence could do to Julian that worried him. He believed that their relationship was a detriment to his long term career prospects by virtue of his very existence and race. The least he could do was to make certain that he said and did nothing to give the Commander or the others reason to believe that he was just using the doctor and that the doctor was too naïve to see it.

Despite expecting the door chime, it still startled him when it sounded. “Enter,” he said. He took one look at what his beautiful doctor was wearing and groaned. “You're actually wearing that?” he complained.

“You're such a flatterer,” Julian said dryly. “I feel so much better now.”

Garak sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, I had hoped that by now at least some of my taste would have rubbed off on you. How many times have I said this cut is all wrong for you? Don't even get me started on the hideous color combination.”

Seemingly exasperated and amused in equal measure, the doctor said, “Just hand me my spare uniform from the closet and give me five minutes to change.”

He tsked primly. “That's an improvement, I suppose, but only just. Hurry up and don't muss your hair, or we'll be late.”

Julian

For all of Garak's fussing, they were nowhere close to late, quite the opposite. They were the first to arrive. Jake greeted them at the door. “Hey, Doctor Bashir...Mr. Garak,” he said. “Come on in. Dad and I are still cooking.”

“Hello, Jake,” Julian said cheerfully. Garak inclined his head in that way he had come to associate with Cardassians in general, and the two of them stepped into the quarters. Delicious smells filled the air, and he was very surprised to see Commander Sisko actually cooking on hot plates.

“Welcome, Doctor, Mister Garak,” Sisko said with a smile. “Make yourselves comfortable. There's wine on the sideboard and a few hors d'oeuvres scattered about.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Julian said, returning the smile and moving to pour himself and Garak a glass of white wine. “Everything already smells amazing.”

“Indeed,” Garak added. “It was gracious of you to invite us.”

“It's my pleasure,” the man replied. Jake rejoined him, and the two continued the meal preparation.

Garak took a seat, looking rather formal and stiff while he waited for Julian. The doctor brought him his glass and sat beside him. “So,” he said just a little too brightly, “when you invited us, I didn't realize you meant that you would actually be cooking.”

“Dad loves to cook,” Jake said. “He's really good at it, too.”

“Thank you, son,” Sisko said, beaming. “It's a weakness of mine, a real home cooked meal.” He turned his attention to Garak. “Tell me, Mister Garak, have you ever had Cajun food?”

“I haven't,” the Cardassian answered between sips of wine. “Judging from the smell, I believe I should be sorry to have to say that. I'm looking forward to trying it. Now, is that a reference to some sort of regional cuisine, or a specific style of cooking?”

The doctor felt a small thrill. He hadn't known what to expect from Garak in this sort of situation, as he had never had the chance to see him in a purely social context with his co-workers. So far he seemed to be maybe not exactly enjoying himself but on his best behavior. He knew that he was scoring at least a few points with the Commander by showing an interest in something that obviously interested him.

“A little bit of both, actually,” Sisko answered. He quickly warmed to the subject, all too happily indulging Garak's curiosity. Julian was content to listen. He didn't want to interrupt the moment, so he sipped his wine and tried some of the cheese ball on the low table in front of him on a cracker.

The door chimed, and Jake moved to answer it. “Hi, Major Kira,” he said. “Come on in.”

The doctor stiffened slightly, glancing out of the corners of his eyes at Garak. The Bajoran woman followed Jake inside and visibly paused when she spotted the tailor seated beside the doctor. Perhaps he should have given her advance warning that Garak would be there, but he had been afraid that if he did, she might not come at all. The look she shot Julian could have bored a hole in the station hull. “I'm glad to see I'm not late,” she managed, bee lining for the wine.

“Not at all, Major,” Sisko said. “Will Odo still be joining us?”

“The last I spoke to him he said he intended to,” she replied. She turned with a full glass and eyed each seat, settling on the one furthest away from the Cardassian. She perched on the edge. “He probably got tied up in Security at the last minute.”

“I was under the impression that things were rather quiet of late,” Garak said mildly.

She glanced sharply at him, again cut a look at Julian, and said, “I really wouldn't know. Things come up.”

“That they do,” Julian cut in. “Just this morning, I wound up with three cases of Bolian rhino virus in the infirmary, even though the last Bolian left the station several days ago. Incubation periods, you know.”

“Fascinating,” Garak said in a way that made him want to elbow him. Had they not been in polite company, he would've. “The Commander was just explaining Cajun cuisine to me, Major,” he said pleasantly. “It has quite the intriguing history, a people forced to leave their ancestral home, settling anew, and being forced to move again. They trek across an entire continent, settle in a region most consider uninhabitable due to all manner of dangerous wildlife, and turn it into food. I do hope I got that right?” he asked, glancing at Sisko.

The Commander looked highly amused. “You did, Mister Garak; I believe in the most succinct way I have ever heard you speak.”

“Brevity is the soul of wit,” he quipped.

“That would explain a lot,” Kira said a bit flatly.

“As you see,” the tailor gestured to the Major with a broad smile.

“What is this wine?” Julian cut in desperately. “It's really very good.” At the rate those two were going, he could tell he'd be drinking a lot of it that night.

“Oh, it's just a nice table brand of Pinot Grigio,” Sisko answered. “I'll make sure you leave with a label if you really like it. I order it on a fairly regular basis. I can always include an order for you with mine.”

“I'd like that,” Julian said. He didn't like the way Garak and Kira were eying one another at all, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it without making things worse. Kira's attitude was to be expected, he supposed. It was Garak's that worried him. He knew that look. It meant trouble, mischief, and provocation. It meant that if Garak wasn't careful, he might get himself slapped. “Here,” he said, standing and plucking Garak's mostly empty glass from his hand. “Let me get you a refill.” He used the moment he had his back to the Major to glare daggers at his lover and mouth, Behave!

“Thank you, my dear,” Garak said. The doctor couldn't tell if he intended to follow his order or not. Nothing had changed in his demeanor. “May I pass you anything, Major?” he asked, waiting until Julian was too far away to intervene. “You're seated quite the distance from the food.”

“No,” she said sharply, adding with some difficulty, “thank you. I'm fine.”

“Don't eat too much,” Jake said gamely. “You'll want to save room for the main course.”

“I wouldn't dream of spoiling my appetite,” Garak assured him.

Kira's mood improved visibly with the arrival of Odo. The changeling took an interest in the food preparation, heading over to watch Sisko and Jake up close. With Kira's attention now on the trio, Julian leaned close to Garak and murmured, “I don't know if it's that you can't help yourself or you won't, but please at least try not to provoke her and make things awkward.”

“My dear Doctor, I have no idea what you're talking about,” he said innocently, sipping his wine.

They turned their attention toward Odo, who was getting an impromptu lesson in souffle making. Everything seemed as though it would work out well after all, until Julian discovered that part of the meal included sauteed beets. “Beets?” he asked without enthusiasm. He should have known better, for the conversation went exactly as it did any time one expressed a dislike for a particular type of food. He was quickly informed that he simply hadn't had them prepared properly.

Dax's arrival gave Garak an opening. He murmured close to the doctor's ear, “Don't be difficult about the food. It's quite rude!”

He couldn't tell if he was serious or just taking the opportunity to goad him. Knowing Garak, the chance of either was around fifty/fifty. The pre-dinner banter continued until Dax discovered Jake's keyboard on the table and began playing around with it. At first, it didn't sound like much, but suddenly, she played a very lyrical refrain.

“That was lovely,” Julian said, surprised since she had expressed her belief that she had a complete lack of musical ability.

“Quiet!” she snapped, trying again unsuccessfully.

Taken aback, he blinked in surprise and stilled. No one said anything for a few uncomfortable moments. When she couldn't reproduce the piece again, she finally gave up, but he could tell she didn't want to. Jake broke the awkwardness with the welcome announcement that dinner was ready.

The food was every bit as delicious as the smells had promised. He did not like the beets, but he ate a few anyway, as much to satisfy Garak as Commander Sisko. He didn't have the heart to tell the man that to him, they just tasted like dirt, sweet dirt, but still dirt. Dax seemed a bit subdued and preoccupied for the rest of dinner, not at all like her. He determined that he would ask her later if something was wrong or if he had offended her in some way. He hoped that her attitude wasn't because of Garak's presence there. It didn't seem too likely. She was as friendly to the tailor as she was to any of them that night.

He was grateful that whatever mercurial mood had seized his lover early in the evening eased with the enjoyment of the meal. Garak made no further effort to provoke Major Kira in any way, and he contributed pleasantly to the dinner conversation without dominating it or becoming overbearing. It was as close to a normal social outing as Julian could have hoped for. They chose to leave at the same time as Dax, earlier than Major Kira and Odo so that they wouldn't be those people, the sort who were first arrivals and the last to depart and always so taxing to a host.

As they strolled back toward Julian's quarters, the closer of the two, they walked arm in arm. “I want to thank you,” Julian said, “for letting me have a pleasant evening out with you and coming along. I know you didn't want to.”

“I'm glad that I did,” Garak replied lightly. “It was most informative.”

Julian arched a brow. “Do you really expect me to believe you found the history of the Acadians and Cajun cuisine that intriguing?”

Garak sighed. “Every time I think you're making real progress, you say something like that and dash my hopes to pieces. It's very cruel of you, you know.”

He rolled his eyes and stopped before his door to key his entry code. Garak gestured for him to precede him inside. He did so, turning toward Garak once the door closed. “I can't imagine what else you may have learned. No one said anything earth shatteringly interesting, and aside from Dax's somewhat odd behavior, nothing of any real note happened.”

The Cardassian's lips quirked into the smile that Julian found his most maddening. It managed to imply that Garak knew something he didn't, felt that he ought to know it, and found it amusing and disappointing that he didn't all at once; not to mention it was mocking. He knew from over three years of association that nothing he said or did would pry the information out of the man once he got that smile. “Be that way, then,” he said in exasperation, heading to his bedroom to change out of his uniform.

He returned to find Garak gazing out the star port. For a few minutes, he stood quietly in his bedroom doorway and simply watched. At times the man held such profound stillness, usually in moments when he wasn't aware anyone was looking. It was hard to catch him like that. When Julian did, he felt as though he bore witness to a gulf of sadness and isolation that he was helpless to combat. No matter what he touched in Garak, he knew on an instinctive level that he never touched that. He doubted that there was a person alive who could, and he wondered if it would disappear were Garak able to return to his beloved Cardassia or if it was an indelible part of his character, forged long before his exile.

To his surprise, he found that while he lost himself in thought, he had become the observed. “Such a look,” Garak said softly.

“I could say the same thing,” he replied, his false cheer ringing flat in his ears. He closed the distance between them and stood behind the man, slipping his arms about his waist and resting his chin on one of his shoulders. “What are you looking at out there?”

“I'm not,” the tailor said cryptically. He covered Julian's hands with both of his and didn't elaborate.

“Something...in here, then?” the doctor asked hesitantly, twisting his neck to press a kiss to Garak's temple so that he'd know what he meant.

Garak turned in his arms and smiled an odd smile. “You are learning after all,” he said. “Aren't you going to ask me what it is?”

Julian nuzzled him nose to nose. “No,” he said. “You'll tell me when you're ready, or you won't. I'm not going to ask.”

The Cardassian's smile deepened, his blue eyes shining. “Oh, my dear, we truly have made some progress. Now, let's go get sweaty so we have an excuse for pillow talk.”

He laughed, startled right out of his contemplative mood. As they headed for the bedroom, he wondered if that hadn't been exactly Garak's intention. Some of his manipulations were so much more subtle than others that it was always safest just to assume intent.